What If?
by Ambrelle Shirak
Summary: [Complete] What if Limburger had killed the Biker Mice? What if he managed it by slipping back through time? And just what if the timeline tried to fix itself? [please review]
1. Chapter 1

Episode One

Runnin' on Empty

"Limburger! You won't get away with this!"

Throttle flexed his muscles, straining to free himself from the bonds that held him tied to his two unconscious bros. The Plutarkian glanced over his shoulder as he keyed digits into the console. The empty space between the two Tesla coils began to spin and oscillate, various brilliant colors swirling together to dazzle his eyes. The grin on Limburger's plastic lips infuriated the Martian Mouse; but his struggles were to no avail. He couldn't budge the iron constraints, nor could he drag the limp weight of his bros across the floor. Whatever Limburger's device was meant to do… it seemed to be accomplishing.

The Tesla coils sparked and crackled, electricity causing the Mice's fur to rise on end. An uncomfortable prickling sensation rippled through his skin, as Throttle snarled in the face of his enemy. The colors began to solidify, forming a picture between the two coils. He strained to see, wishing fervently that his cybernetic eyes actually worked properly for once. Before the picture came completely into focus, however, Limburger's broad shape moved to block the Mouse's view.

"Get a good look," Limburger hissed, exhaling rank, rotten air into Throttle's sensitive nose. "Because this is the last of this world that you shall see!"

The fish stepped away again, allowing Throttle to get a good view of the image between the coils. Confusion was written upon his brow as he pondered the meaning of it all. Beyond the coils, where once had lain a solid wall with open air beyond, now lay the shimmering frost-laden ground of Quigley Stadium. Limburger reached for a very large, very potent laser rifle, and casually checked his watch.

A large ball of orange began to flicker like flame off to his left, hurtling in at incredible speeds. Throttle's eyes widened behind his field specs. He recognized that day! That was the first day they had all crashed on Earth, and sought out Charley's help. Limburger chuckled softly, checking the ammunition rounds on the laser rifle. Glancing back one final time, the fish waved his fingers lightly in the Mouse's direction.

"Sayonara!"

Throttle felt suffocated, as the vision of the Martian runabout hurtled closer and closer. He wanted to move; he flexed, he tried, he pulled until he felt his shoulders would dislocate. Limburger watched him for a moment or two, before resolutely stepping between the Tesla coils. The image stretched and rippled, as if the giant piscine alien were stepping through a wall of liquid. As everything twanged back into focus, Throttle watched a puff of breath rise from Limburger's mouth. He could almost hear the crunch of the frost beneath his patent leather shoes.

Limburger looked right, then he looked left. And finally he looked up at the hurtling object in the sky. With painstaking casualness, Limburger knelt in the frosty grass, lifting the heavy laser rifle up to rest upon his shoulder. Shifting forward slightly, he put his eye to the scope, and settled into position, his finger sliding lovingly over the trigger. Throttle could hear himself giving the orders to bail from the ship, his mind dragged him back to that night.

The report of the laser rifle seared his ears, twice. Behind him, he felt his bros stir into wakefulness, only to stiffen and grunt in pain. Throttle ground his teeth together as the laser rifle hissed again. A moment later, warmth spread through his chest. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, finding himself whispering apologies. It was painful to breathe, but he forced himself to do so, until his head filled with static.

A sudden searing heat exploded over him. With a last, wheezing breath, Throttle went black.

------------------

"Oooooh…"

"Hold still, bro; Vinnie's cutting us loose."

That was Modo's voice! Throttle felt joy rip through his perception, forcing it's way past the pain. He made himself relax, calmed every nerve that told him they shouldn't be here. Limburger's device, the laser rifle… it was all so fresh in his memory. And it couldn't have been a dream. His hands were still bound to his bros.

Silently, he thanked Vinnie for his talented tail, and his bandoliers of fusion flares. The flares easily melted the metal bonds, allowing the three of them free. Throttle went to bring his arms round before him, and hissed in agony. One of his shoulders had dislocated, and the burning nerves threatened to sweep him off balance. Instantly, Modo's flesh hand was steadying him, the warm touch of the huge Mouse comforting at the same time Throttle was disturbed.

His field specs must have been knocked off when he passed out. His vision was a sea of static, broken by shadowy movements at his peripheral vision. Almost as quickly as he put his good hand out to look for them, a strangely silent Vinnie pressed them into his hand. Vinnie was shaking, and he clutched for a long moment at his bro's arm. When he was finally released, Throttle slid the specs on, and surveyed the Tower.

Well, it was supposed to be the Tower. Limburger's fortress was nothing but rubble. Rubble that surrounded them and left them exposed to the elements. Throttle rose slowly, clutching his shoulder, and he moved forward through the tumble-down brick and concrete to stand between his bros. None of them said a word, nor did they look at each other. The sky hung oppressively low, thick, black clouds blocked out every trace of blue, and sun that could have ever existed. Everywhere they looked, there was neither a single trace of green in Chicago, nor even a hint of water. No parks. No laughter. No humans in sight at all.

Modo swallowed. "Oh… Mama…" he choked out, tears threatening on the edge of the deep voice.

"How long were we out?" Vinnie asked, his voice cracked too, and he wavered as if he were struggling to stand up. "This can't be Earth."

Vincent swooned, stumbling backwards as a wave of vertigo swept through him. Modo was faster than Throttle, jumping back to catch him before he dropped like a rock. The youngster's white fur was grimy, and he stood with his arms wrapped around his ribs. Modo's hand in the center of his back steadied him. Of the three, he figured himself to be in the best shape. Throttle's shoulder was shot, and it looked like Vinnie suffered from broken ribs. Modo tucked his cybernetic hand beneath one of the white Mouse's biceps and forced him to loosen his grip a little bit. Vinnie hissed and pulled away, but not before Modo could see the deep lacerations cut into his side.

"We're in some bad shape," he muttered to himself as he sat Vinnie down. Throttle was working on some field dressings, using his belt as a temporary sling for his shoulder. Modo untied Vinnie's bandana and worked on binding Vinnie's ribs. "Think we should find Miss Charley?"

Vinnie seemed to brighten at that thought, but winced in pain as he inhaled to speak. Throttle nodded slowly. "If anyone can tell us what's going on, she definitely can." He looked around then, as if expecting to see something. "But… our rides…"

Modo scowled, forcing Vinnie to stay down with one determined look. He tucked his fingers around his front teeth, and whistled. Both his bros winced at the shrill sound, and a few stubborn crows took raucous flight at the disturbance. Modo held his breath and waited, straining his ears for the sounds that he loved so much.

"C'mon, Li'l Darlin'…" he whispered softly. "Please…"

The rumble started nearby, beneath a pile of rubble. Modo beamed, his ears perking up. Ozone drifted through the air, making him sneeze as the trapped motorcycles melted their way out of the rubble with searing laser fire. He glanced at Throttle and Vinnie and beamed proudly. His Li'l Hoss, the intelligent motorcycle he doted upon and loved with all his great big heart, rumbled happily to see him.

"Can you ride?" Throttle asked Vinnie as he helped the youth up.

Vinnie nodded, the headlights reflecting off his Flexi-Plate mask. His eyes were wide and frightened, an expression that left him vulnerable and wounded. "It looks just like Mars…" he whispered for Throttle's ears only. "Nothing left… just… pain…"

Throttle couldn't speak; he couldn't agree with the observation verbally. Steadying Vinnie with one arm, he helped his bro climb onto the sleek red machine that idled before him. Vinnie patted her gas tank affectionately, and let go of his ribs to lean over and twist the throttle.

Modo trundled up as the beige Mouse was mounting his own machine. "They look a little beat up…" the big gray Mouse noticed, pointing out some dings in Li'l Hoss' chrome exhaust.

"Let's head to the Last Chance," Throttle directed, smoothing his bangs back before sliding into his helmet. "Charley'll know what's going on."

The Stadium was gone…

The hot dogs stand too…

Tears sprang to Modo's eyes as they passed the rubble of his favorite radio station.

They skirted past Quigley Field, each staring in horrified awe at the massive sprawling complex that lay where the baseball diamond had once been. Even through their helmet filters, the stench of Plutarkian was almost overwhelming. Throttle swallowed, something was definitely not right here. He reflected on the scene beyond the giant Tesla coils… It couldn't have been more than two hours ago that he witnessed it. They couldn't have been out for long!

Definitely not long enough for Limburger to successfully rape the planet! But his eyes were telling the truth, gaping holes where concrete and dirt once was; smoldering stumps where trees had been clear cut away. He feared the worst had happened to the Last Chance Garage; feared that Charley was gone, and the home they had once enjoyed was destroyed. He almost laughed with relief when he found that his worst fears were unfounded.

The Garage still stood. A tall barbed-wire fence had been erected around the structure, which bore the pock-marks and damage of many sieges. Of all things to decorate the front yard, there was a monolithic tank, blown over on its side and gutted of any salvageable parts. Cautiously, the boys rode through the gap in the fence, single file. They left their bikes idling in front of the heavy steel bay doors, while they dismounted, and limped to the side door.

The interior was dark. Throttle tested the door and found it unlocked. He glanced at his bros, and stepped inside. Vinnie refused help as he followed, leaving Modo to tag along behind.

_WHAM!_

The blow came out of nowhere, something large and solid collided with the back of Throttle's head. As Throttle blacked out, he heard Vinnie and Modo hit the floor as they too, were assaulted by the unseen figures.

"I say we put them out of their misery, right here, and right now."

"Easy, Brock, if we did everything the way you wanted to, we'd all be dead now."

"Charley's got a point there, Brock."

"Shaddup, Jack. They're MICE, for Christ's sake. They're here to kill us."

"Dad, they're hurt… they can't kill us… I'm getting Danny, that white one is going to bleed to death!"

Charlene McCyber rubbed her face wearily as the girl ran from the room. Everyone had valid fears, everyone had valid points, but Charley didn't know just what do to about the three six-foot tall Martian Mice. They had strolled in like they owned the joint, and now they were lying on the concrete floor, hands, feet and tails bound together. She looked at Jack for help, but her husband was kneeling by the largest of the trio.

"Check this out! This one's got cybernetic augments!" Jack chimed like a little kid.

"Disable it," Charley warned him, frowning at the notion.

"It's an old model… that's easy." Jack shook his mahogany hair out of his eyes as he flipped the metal arm over, exposing the linkage box at it's elbow. Popping a few wires out, Jack nodded, satisfied that the arm wouldn't function when the behemoth woke up.

Brock stood guard over them, his thick arms crossed over his thick chest. He didn't care if they were wounded, or hale. Those damned Mice were the enemy… "They're probably part of Parmesana's crew… she likes the shirtless male look," he snarled at the unconscious creatures.

Danny emerged into the bay just then, with 10-year-old Zoë in tow. Brock refused to look in his daughter's direction, unhappy with her compassion for the creatures that had slain her mother last year. Danny patted the girl on the shoulder, before he broke from her company to join Charley and Jack.

"So?"

"They just wandered in here," Charley was confused, and it showed in her voice. "No weapons drawn; banged up; totally unsuspecting…"

Danny knelt between the beige Mouse and the white one. He scrubbed a hand through his salt and pepper hair, sighing long and low. Before the invasion, Danny had been a surgeon at Chicago Regional.

"Let's get these guys below ground…" he muttered.

"You're going to heal them?" Brock snapped, rolling his thick shoulders.

"We need answers," Charley countered. "They can't answer us if they're dead."

Zoë bounced to the stairs. "I'll get a room ready!" She called back to the surgeon.

Brock scowled harder, infuriated with his daughter's desire to help. But he couldn't go against Charley's word. He owed her his life… and his daughter's. If she said it had to happen, then it had to happen. Grudgingly, he slung the biggest Mouse over his shoulder, not really caring that big gray's knuckles dragged against the concrete.

"Do I make myself clear, young lady?"

Zoë kicked her feet in the dirt, and scowled. "Yessir," she mumbled. Brock crossed his broad arms across his chest, and tapped his foot expectantly. "I won't go anywhere near them when they wake up!"

"Good," he ruffled her thick curly black hair. "That's my little trooper." Brock stumped to the door, his boots dull and thudding against the earthen floor. "Come on, peanut, let's let the band-aid do his work."

Zoë glanced back at Danny. The former doctor was bent over the white Mouse, carefully wrapping bandages around his ribcage while Jack positioned the body for him. As the Martian moaned, Zoë winced, and followed her dad out of the chamber. The curtain that covered the otherwise open hole in the wall flapped a little in a breeze. Brock glanced up and grinned. Charley had cleared whatever had been obstructing their fresh air. It was a nice change, feeling the cool air slide over his baldpate. It rinsed the stench of humanity out of the little complex; unfortunately there was nothing they could do any longer about the fishy Plutarkian stink.

He paused and waited for his little girl. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he ushered her into the video chamber. Automatically, she took her usual seat, spinning around once, before settling in to watch the three interior screens. Brock patted her shoulder as he turned his attention to the exterior cameras.

"Everything's clear," he muttered. "Charley got their bikes out of sight, even."

Zoë didn't answer; she frowned and glanced over at her father, upset at his anger. Not one, but three rooms were now occupied by their unlucky guests. Charley had mentioned something about Mice being most dangerous when they were around their own kind. Danny had given the slim white one his highest priority; the poor thing seemed to have suffered greatly. And Brock would have killed them instantly. Zoë was glad that Charley and Jack were in charge; they believed in second chances too.

Again… Throttle's head was on fire for a second time in the past twenty-four hours. He groaned as he shook himself awake, rolling his shoulders. He hissed again, but the burning pain of his dislocated shoulder wasn't as bad as it had been earlier. Hesitantly, he touched his arm, and found it to be supported by a sling, his shoulder, popped back into place. Someone had taken his field specs; effectively he was blind again. He reached out, and felt around. He had no weapons. They had even taken his glove of nuke knucks. 'They?'

The last thing he remembered was stepping into the Last Chance Garage.

"Vinnie?" He asked tentatively, listening hard for sounds of their presence. "Modo?"

Nothing. His ears were greeted with a most disappointing silence. His brow furrowed, not total silence. There was someone else in the room with him. A slow steady breathing, as if someone was trying to keep themselves calm. Throttle sniffed the air, smiling at the scent of vanilla musk.

"Charley-girl?"

She was dead silent, but her breath caught. Throttle could almost picture the way she would be sitting. Stiff and straight, with fear and worry etched on her pretty features. _Fear_? He wondered why he had put that on her, but found himself answering that question quicker than he would have liked. She was terrified of him.

"It's me…" he felt the need to keep talking, keep giving her information. "Throttle. Don't you remember me? Remember the bros?"

"You're not part of a Death Squad?" As soon as she asked the question, Throttle felt the first churnings of fear in his own stomach. He didn't know what to tell her, and found himself staring blindly into the static that covered his vision. "Where the hell did you come from?"

"Mars." The answer came quickly, and Charley's instant response was laughter.

"Mars has been a dead planet for three years." She fairly growled the words. "Ever since the Stink Fish started to rape Earth. They killed Mars, and they are going to kill Earth." He could hear her rise, and began to pivot to face her. She stopped him, pressing a knife against his throat. "You _will_ tell me why you came here. Or I will kill you before you kill us."

"Kill you?" Throttle's normally calm voice cracked, spiking high at the thought of dying at Charley's hands. "We're not here to kill you! We need your help! We can't figure out what's happened!"

"Here's the short of it: The Plutarkians came, they saw, they conquered." Charley hissed into his ear. "From all accounts, it's the same thing they did on Mars. You know, where you came to Earth from."

Throttle was panting, with each breath he could feel the knife-edge press a little harder into his throat. Charley's weight pressed against his back, positioned so she could wrench his bad shoulder right out of its socket again if she needed to. He had to resort to pleading.

"You don't remember me? You don't remember the bros? Vinnie? Modo?" Throttle grasped at verbal straws, hunting for something that would spark her memory. "The Scoreboard? Root beer and hot dogs? The Big Cheese? We fought against Limburger together! You came back to Mars with us once… you've experienced my memories!"

Charley pressed her knee into his shoulder, causing Throttle to cry out in sudden pain. "Don't lie to me! All Mice work for the Plutarkians. All of them!" She shoved hard against Throttle's back, sending him off balance and falling to the floor. He curled into a little ball of misery as he heard her slam and lock the door behind her.

Modo was calm. He was determined to stay calm. Just because his cyber arm wasn't working all of a sudden didn't mean that he had to get upset. Just because he was tied down with titanium-steel alloy straps didn't mean that he had to get upset. Just because he was alone in the room with no idea what had happened to Throttle or Vinnie didn't mean he had to get upset. So he remained calm. Answers would come in their own good time. Things like that always did.

He really didn't expect his answers to come in the form of Jack McCyber waltzing into the room with an air of ownership. The bells started go off in his head as soon as he saw the hacker. Charley had never allowed him to stay long in the Last Chance. His presence had always made her uncomfortable. Modo studied the scruffy hacker, and for a few seconds, he allowed his eye to linger on the single, plain, golden ring around his ring finger. Something was definitely wrong with this picture.

"Hey," Modo began, wishing he could sit up to talk with Jack in a dignified manner.

"Hey, you're awake." Jack pulled a chair up beside the slab where Modo lay. "I'm Jack. What's a big strapping Mouse like you doing in this neck of the woods?"

"I know who you are." Modo pondered at his introduction. "You don't remember me?"

Jack shook his head. "You need to answer my questions, big guy." He was being awfully nice. "Why're you out here?"

Modo looked around, seeing nothing but blank gray walls. "I'll answer your questions on one condition."

"Name it."

"Tell me where my bro's are, and how they're doing."

"They're safe. The beige one's in conference with my wife. Nothing more than a dislocated shoulder. The white one, however, is still out cold. He's got three broken ribs, and some seriously bruised internal organs. He'll survive alright."

_Wife_? Modo's eye widened at that thought. _He can't mean Charley-ma'am_! Modo frowned, pressing his tongue against his uneven front teeth. It was obvious that he didn't know them, even after they had two unsavory encounters in the past. He sighed them, almost in resignation.

"We're looking for Charley… we were knocked out while trying to stop Limburger… and, well," Modo couldn't look around anymore; he closed he eye, and resigned himself to inactivity. "This don't feel like home."

Jack seemed to process it, but kept all of his relevant thoughts to himself. "How did you first arrive on Earth?"

Modo swallowed. "Three years ago… we crashed our cruiser into the scoreboard at Quigley Field."

Jack harrumphed, but didn't respond as Modo twisted his head around and gave him a questioning look. "How do you know Charley?"

"She helps us. Fixes our bikes. Upgrades our weapons—" Modo didn't get any further than that before Jack had cut him off.

"Woah, woah! Hold your horses there. Charley doesn't help Mice! She kills them!" Jack was laughing; he found this so funny. Modo's eye glimmered slightly, as he felt the first inklings of anger building in his gut. "I don't know what kind of drugs you're on, or what's giving you these delusions… but you are certainly out of line!"

Modo opened his mouth to ask a question, but Jack was already heading for the door. As he reached the door, he shut off the tape recorder in his pocket. Charley was waiting for him. She looked visibly shaken, her eyes closed and she was worrying her lower lip. As Jack slid an arm around her shoulders, she looked at him with stricken eyes.

"Jack?"

He soothed her, squeezing her shoulders. "I know." He kissed her dark auburn hair, losing himself for a moment in the vanilla scent. "Nothing survived the Quigley crash."

"Do you believe them?" Brock was asking as they all gathered in the dining room. "Zoë, eat your veggies." He tapped the table to get his daughter's attention back to the listless green lettuce that she pushed around on her plate.

Jack was tinkering with a little black box. He took a moment and glanced up at everyone. "I may have some hard evidence here, if I can crack the access code."

"What is that?" Charley asked as she settled into a chair beside her husband.

"A recording device, all Martian AI's have them. Verification purposes, usually, or to discover the last moments of a certain Mouse." Jack nodded slightly as he twisted one of the small tools in his hand. With a satisfying click, a light at the front of the box began to flicker. Within moments, a three dimensional holograph rose over the table.

The three of their visitors appeared in the air, bound together. Zoë hid her face as the unmistakable form of Lawrence L. Limburger filled the projection.

"That's not the complex," Charley observed suddenly. She pointed to the giant holographic Tesla coils. "The old tower? And… what in hell is that?"

Jack narrowed his eyes, and rose, walking around the table to get a good view of it all. The three holographic figures slumped over as if dead. Limburger stepped back into view from between the giant Tesla coils. He gave the beige Mouse a kick, and laughed. The Plutarkian disappeared from the frame of view again, and all was still for a few minutes. Suddenly, one of the Tesla coils emitted a giant spark; a spark that ignited the substance hanging between the two coils. The explosion was gargantuan, violent, and blinding.

"Holy…" Brock swore, covering his eyes. "That was the boom that took down the old tower yesterday, wasn't it?"

Jack was nodding. "That was an abandoned complex." He mentioned. "So..." The white static cleared from the holographic display then, revealing to the humans a familiar scene: the decimated Chicago.

"What does it mean?" Charley asked, quietly.

"At least part of their story is true," Jack answered, nodding. "They apparently hate Plutarkian's as much as we do."  
"See, Daddy?" Zoë asked suddenly. "I told you they didn't work for the bad guys!"

Throttle didn't care what kind of situation he was going to be walking into, he was just happy that Charley had decided to believe him after all. He and Modo were let into the room where Vinnie was still sleeping, allowing them some privacy to talk.

"This is creepy," Throttle observed, leaning over the white Mouse to check on him. "At least they patched him up good."

"Jack married Charley." Modo said suddenly.

"What?"

"This is some kind of nightmare, bro." Modo whispered quietly, putting his head in his hands. His rusty cyber arm was working, but Jack had refused to enable the forearm cannon. "Limburger's won; Charley doesn't know us. We're beaten, battered, bruised…" Modo looked up, meeting Throttle's hidden gaze as best he could. "Throttle? What happened after…?"

The beige Mouse took a deep breath. After a few moments, he rounded, spinning on his heel. "That's it! That's what happened!"

"What's what?" Modo echoed, looking around bewildered.

"Limburger went back in time!" Throttle fairly vibrated with the epiphany. "This is what would have happened on Earth if we hadn't survived the crash!"

"So… we're dead?" Modo asked, scratching the back of his head. "Then how come?"

"Something must have happened with the machine," Throttle began to pace. "Something that made us come over here! After all, it's been almost three years since the crash. And Charley did say that Mars has been dead for three years."

Vinnie stirred in the bed nearby. "Charley?"

The two bros gave each other panicked looks. "Take it easy, hotshot," Throttle warned with a hand on Vinnie's shoulder. "You need your rest."

Vinnie's eyes barely opened, before he was trying to twist himself into a seated position. Throttle didn't move fast enough to stop him. The white Mouse groaned aloud as his ribs ground against each other; his eyes opened just enough to show them rolling back into his head, before he slumped back again.

Modo rose to help Throttle straighten him out a little. "It's best if he stays out," Modo muttered, nodding to himself. "He couldn't handle Jack before; it'd be impossible for him now."

Throttle agreed with a slight nod. "Hey, did you hear that?"

Modo grew silent, tilting his head up so his large round ears were pointed up. "Sounds like a fight…"

They moved towards the door; Modo pressed his hand against the frame. It was muffled, and distant, but they both had to remind themselves they were underground. Feet ran past the door, and moments later came back to the jangling of keys. Throttle pushed Modo back, waiting to see what was going to open the door.

"Quick! Quick! We need your help!" The door flung open to reveal a small mocha-colored girl. She couldn't have been more than ten and she bounced excitedly. "Jack's on the upper level! Follow me!"

Modo raised a brow at his bro, but Throttle only shrugged. Together they followed the kid out of their prison, and through the complex. This place was a lot bigger than they had first expected. In addition to the concrete lined garage basement, there were two additional levels, dug from earth and strutted with wooden beams and stray pieces of metal.

"Zoë!" A giant black man ran forward and pulled his daughter away from the Mice as they entered the basement level. He held her close as the Martian's moved past him, towards where Jack was connecting the last few wires on their bikes.

"Jack?" Throttle asked, quietly.

"It's a Death Squad." Jack answered nonchalantly. "We get hit at least once a week by them. Unfortunately, this one is Limburger's finest." He rose from the bikes and wiped his hands off. "There…" he sighed. "Charley's manning the turret up top, but she needs you two to stir things up."

Throttle looked over at Modo, and Modo looked at Jack through a narrowed eye. "My arm cannon?" He held out his cyberarm and waited, while Jack connected wires and plugged in his power source. "Alright."

"Well, bro… let's rock…" Throttle dropped his helmet back down.

Modo followed suit, and chimed in with his bro: "And ride!"

The two new bikers to the fray didn't even pause to take stock of the situation. To their count, there were five bikes, peppering the Last Chance with laser fire. Throttle was the first to open fire, blowing the rider of a fatboy hog clear off his bike. Modo gave chase to navy chopper, dodging personal mines that it dropped behind it.

A sand-colored racing bike spun into Throttle's side, sending him skidding across the broken pavement. The Mouse jumped clear of his bike before it hit the tall wire fence surrounding the Last Chance. Tucking and rolling, he spun clear of the catastrophe before he winced at the potential damage to his ride. He was on his feet bare moments later, his tail lashing at the air in irritation.

Smoke rolled across the pavement as something exploded. Over the helmet's communications, Throttle could hear Modo whooping in triumph, before spinning off to take another bike out. His ear twitched as something much closer caught his attention. The crunch of a boot across the pavement brought him spinning around, his Nuke Knucks flaring to life with a touch. Balanced low to the ground, he eyed the figure that approached him slowly.

She was curvaceous and moved with a confidence that Throttle found instantly attractive. His eyes widened slightly as she paused in her approach, putting her hands on her hips. They regarded each other for long, tense moments. Just as Throttle thought she was going to attack, a bike roared through the scene between them, brilliant flames painted on the tank were all Throttle could process. As he looked back up, the femme rider had vanished.

" Throttle, they're pulling back! " Modo chimed over the comm., his voice slightly tinny from the old technology.

"I noticed," Throttle griped softly. He rose again, and dusted himself completely off. "Don't follow them." Wrestling with his bike, he freed it from the wire fence, and the sandy-toned racer that had slid into it. He walked his bike a distance away before setting it up on its kickstand; he could smell gas, and that just wasn't a good thing.

Returning to the enemy ride, he gave it a yank, righting it easily. His hands followed the familiar lines of the bike as he examined it carefully. It was definitely a Martian make; the lines and flow easily pleased the eye. Dual exhaust, and an all matte finish.

Behind him, Modo pulled up quick, disengaging his face shield as he could get an unobstructed view. "Hey, bro?" Modo pointed at the bike with a curious eye. "Isn't that Carbine's ride?"

Just as quickly as Throttle had pulled the bike up, he dropped it. The thought had lurked, unsaid, in the back of his mind. Modo was stricken as a visible wave of anguish froze his bro on the spot. He looked for something to say, but found himself at a lack of words. Dismounting, he crossed over to where Throttle stood, and reached down to gently right the bike again. As he looked up, his cybernetic gaze was drawn to a glint high in the rubble of a nearby building.

"Sniper!" Modo threw his arm around Throttle and flattened them both to the ground. The first bullet whizzed by their ears, and slammed into the concrete, causing a fist-sized dent. The second shot clipped the fallen motorcycle's gas tank, and sent the bike up in a holy rain of fire.

Modo glanced back over his shoulder and whistled softly. The sniper had vanished from the building.

End Episode One

Go To Episode Two


	2. Chapter 2

Episode Two

Last Gas Station For 3 Light-Years

" I missed! " Steel growled over the comm. " I can't believe I fucking missed! "

"Easy, girl, it's a good thing this time," Carbine replied, almost so softly that her mic didn't pick up the words. Carbine's hands tightened slightly on Halogen's waist, hugging the sinewy Mouse against her for comfort. She refused to believe what she had just witnessed, downright refused to accept what her eyes told her. Halogen patted her hands, but for once, kept his mouth shut.

"Did you destroy her?" Carbine asked suddenly.

" Yes, of course, " came Steel's sharp answer. Carbine could tell that the sniper was climbing down to meet the rest of them at Delta Point. " What got you spooked, boss? "

Carbine could only laugh softly; Steel's concern wasn't for the leader, Steel coveted Carbine's position. "I think I saw a ghost," Carbine answered softly. She sighed. "We have everyone accounted for?"

" I got Torque, " The answer came from the giant Northern Mouse named Lug riding slightly behind Halogen and Carbine. " I think he's a little worse for wear, but he'll survive. "

" Bastard nuked my ride, " an identical voice continued. Carbine smiled, the twins were good if they were complaining.

" Coming up on your six, Carbine, " Rimfire sounded disturbed to say the least. She was worried that the boy had seen the same thing she had.

" And… _I got you babe_, sang Halogen all too cheerfully, and off-key. Carbine rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless.

" Delta Point secure, boss, " Steel ruined the moment, with her carefully trained report. As far as she was concerned, this was a battlefield, and required respect.

"ETA one minute," Carbine replied. With a sigh, she rested her helmet against Halogen's back, and watched as Rimfire fell into place on their eight. The young Mouse gave a hesitant thumbs-up, to which Carbine responded by cutting her fingers through the air, inches in front of her throat.

The minute it took them to join Steel at Delta Point seemed like an eternity. Once they pulled into the spot, a small thin alley between two decrepit buildings, they dismounted and stretched their legs. Carbine first checked on Lug and Torque. The twins seemed to support each other as they stood near Lug's shining green fat-bodied low-rider. They were identical twins, a rare occurrence among the Martian population. They were also gigantic, born to the heartiest stock of the Northern Mice. Their fur was a sandy-strawberry, and shaggier than most other Mice. Torque sported a deep gash on his arm, where a piece of shrapnel from his exploding bike had caught him. His peroxide blond topknot wobbled as he nodded a greeting to Carbine. Lug was combing his fingers through his mane of blond, happy to let it be freed from the confines of the helmet.

"You guys koshe?" Carbine asked quietly, laying a hand on each of their arms. She felt like such a dwarf between them, even if she was on average for a Martian female. Lug nodded as he fished a first aid kit out of his saddlebag.

"We'll be fine," Torque answered in his stead.

Carbine smiled, and turned away from the twins. A soft jingle alerted her to another presence within them. Steel had descended from her vantage point. Carbine sighed, and turned to the black Mouse. The sniper had her rifle slung over her shoulder, and she nearly blended into the dark shadows at the base of the alley. The tiny bells woven into the ends of her waist-length corn-row braids were the only reason Carbine knew she was present, and that was only because Steel had allowed them to jingle. Dressed in a matte black uniform that matched each of their own violet and red ones, Steel cut an imposing figure. She towered over Carbine by a full head. Steel slipped her arm around Carbine's waist to lead her away from the others a slight distance.

"Who were those Mice, boss?" she asked softly, her azure eyes boring into Carbine's brown ones. "The two at the Last Chance. You pulled us out because you recognized them."

Carbine sighed, and motioned for Rimfire to join them. The youth came over quickly, but found his exuberance cowed by Steel's glare. "_If_, they're anything, they're clones. I don't know how the humans got the technology to do it, or the skin samples… but I could have sworn that was Throttle."

Rimfire swallowed, and tried to point without being too flagrant. "And the one that almost took Torque out…it was my Uncle Modo's bike, and… and he had the cyber arm…"

"The great Freedom Fighters?" Steel snorted, unladylike. She waved a hand dismissively at the two. "Humans in wanna-be suits, riding around on mock-ups. Probably intercepted some ol' Martian transmission or something."

Carbine could only nod. _Just tell yourself that_, she thought bitterly at the black Mouse. "Let's get back to base; Torque and I're gonna have to put in new specs for bikes." She turned towards the other aspects of her team, and could only stifle a chuckle as Halogen magically produced a shiny silver quarter from Lug's ear. The twins just groaned.

Halogen spun and saluted as Carbine opened her mouth. He fidgeted, tapping his fingers against his sides, and swishing his tail through the air. He flashed her his most charming smile, and slicked a hand back through his feathery Mohawk. With a debonair bow and a sweep of his arms at his flame-painted chopper, Halogen grinned.

"Your chariot… awaits," he cooed in as deep a voice as he could muster. As Carbine graciously played the part of his leading lady, he emitted a high-pitched chuckle, which ruined the moment. She resisted the urge to smack him, afraid of what reaction she may bring out of the unpredictable one. She watched as the rest of the team saddled up; Steel's sleek midnight racer was idling silently less then a hundred feet away. Carbine nodded at Rimfire.

"Let's move'em out!" he ordered over the communications set. Everything was automatic, rote memory, as the riders fell easily into formation. Halogen and Carbine leading the pack, while Steel bringing up the rear, her silent machine the most fearsome out of the bunch. Carbine could feel the headache rising, and hoped in vain that Limburger would give them a break once they returned.

The gates of the vast complex swung open slowly, the hydraulics whining in protest. They turned through the grandiose courtyard, the only spot in Chicago that still had any measure of greenery, into the giant arena that led them underground to the garage facility. Humans scurried out of their way, dressed in the drab gray's of slavery. Most of them were physical laborers, but the six that ran out to meet them were their personal mechanics. Limburger had countless slaves, as the entire population of Chicago had bowed directly to him.

Torque and Carbine moved off with their respective mechanics, while the others simply dropped their bikes into the wrench-jockeys' capable hands. Steel jingled softly as she sidled up to Rimfire, making a gesture with her head. Rimfire nodded, and followed her out of the garage bays and into the rest of the complex. Steel's boots were noiseless on the metal grating of the corridor, while Rimfire clattered and banged in his haste to keep up with her. Steel was soundless, silent, like a great black ghost that moved through the corridor.

Rimfire found that he, as always, admired the way she moved, the controlled violence that crackled in the air around her. But he was also one of the few, who knew she had been augmented, changed by the Plutarkian scientists during the drawn out Martian War. But even augmented, she hadn't lost perspective on the things that mattered most.

Their personal quarters were underground, four units with a shared common room, at one of the farthest ends of the complex. The level directly above their rooms housed Karbunkle's laboratories. As they passed it, Rimfire noticed that the hydraulic lift was open, water pressure still hissing to his sensitive ears. Steel's eyes were almost luminescent against her black fur as she exchanged a worried glance with the youth. She punched her access code in quickly, her dark fingers dancing over the keypad like air.

The door slid open with a hiss, and Steel allowed her bells to jangle as she stepped through the portal. A pair of orderlies dressed in crisp white linen glanced up at her, but continued with their duties. They lifted a blanket-wrapped form from their gurney onto the couch.

"Sissy?" a weak voice queried, shaking with the exertion of speaking. "Sissy, is that you?"

As the orderlies stepped away, Steel let loose a deep breath she hadn't been aware of holding. Rimfire patted her shoulder lightly.

"Hey Rico," Steel greeted her little sister gently, coming forward to sit on the floor by her head. Rimfire joined her, sitting on the floor by the young Mouse's hands. He took one of them in his, giving her soft, gunmetal gray fur some gentle whirling strokes with his thumb. She was only a year younger than him, but she seemed so soft and vulnerable.

"How're you feeling, Ricochet?" he asked softly.

The orderlies nodded at Steel as they rolled the gurney out. The sniper glared back at them, as if daring them to speak up. "Nothing's working yet, huh?" She asked, smoothing her little sister's silvery bangs away from her face.

Rico's nod was barely perceptible. "'M tired," Rico murmured, barely stifling a yawn. "But, 'm not seein' nuthin' anymore."

Steel seemed to deflate. She lost all the bluster that had carried her through the fight earlier. She looked almost as drawn and tired as her sick sister did. Rimfire reached out, taking one of Steel's hands in his gently. "You need some sleep, Steel." As she shook her head, he squeezed her hand. "I'll stay with Rico, promise."

Ricochet managed a weak smile for her sister, trying to assuage all her fears in one stroke. Steel frowned, but obeyed, rising from the couch side and disappearing through the portal into the bedroom. Rimfire shifted slightly so he could see Rico's face. Once upon a time, she had been the counter to Steel's darkness. Light and bubbly, her laughter used to fill the complex with the most profound joy. But a year and a half ago, she fell dreadfully ill.

"Th'nk you," Rico sighed, her eyes fluttering open for a moment. Rimfire always found their strange violet shade calming, soothing. But they were unfocused, blurry and flat with illness. "F'r bein' good t'Sissy…"

Rimfire pressed a finger against her mouth, quieting her. "That sentiment goes for you as well, Rico. You should sleep." Her fingers twitched against his hand, and Rimfire squeezed gently. "I promise I'll stay. Cross my heart."

Rico smiled again at him, and drew as deep a breath as she could muster. Rimfire stroked her hair and smoothed her fur until he was quite sure she was asleep.

Dan approached the two hale Mice as they returned triumphant from repelling the Death Squad. "I had to sedate your friend," he said quietly as he gave the two a quick exam for injuries. "He was getting a little riled up; wanted to join you in the fight."

Throttle chuckled softly. "That's Vinnie for you. Can't keep that Mouse down."

"However, it's in our best interest to." Danny countered, escorting the Mice back underground. "The injuries he has sustained are life-threatening. One wrong move and one of those ribs could puncture his lungs. I don't have the equipment here to deal with something of that nature!"

"Oh, mama," Modo muttered. "We'll try 'n keep him calm. Right, bro?"

Throttle nodded, and after a moment, flipped his bangs out of his vision. "Do me a favor, Danny? Can you tell me who… those Mice were?"

"Charley can," Dan answered after a few moments of thought. He led them down a dirt corridor to perhaps the largest room in the complex. The plywood door even read "war room." Dan pushed it open, to reveal that the room consisted of only a long table, and a beaten up desktop computer in one corner. Charley sat at the computer, her long auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail.

She turned as Dan cleared his throat, and scowled a moment after. "Thank you," she said. Danny left, closing the thin door behind him, leaving Throttle and Modo to stand uncomfortably under the scowling visage. Modo swallowed, hard and loudly. Instantly, everything about the Chicago they knew came flooding back, and the big gray Mouse was homesick.

"That was nicely done," Charley told them as she rose from the computer terminal. "I haven't seen anyone read the tactics of that particular Death Squad that well." Throttle waited, lashing his tail through the air behind him. "Carbine runs a tight crew; some of the best and craziest Mice work for her."

Throttle's heart hit the floor. That had been Carbine. He lowered his head, studying the tops of his boots until Modo patted his shoulder lightly.

Charley gestured towards the computer. "Here, these are the Mice she runs with."

Throttle and Modo drew closer, preparing for the worst. They read the names silently, most where unfamiliar, or vaguely remembered from tombstones on Mars. Modo drew back and walked away as he found his nephew's name. Throttle continued on. "Steel and Ricochet? Modo, weren't those the names of the sniper team that tried to take Lord Camembert out on Mars?"  
Modo roused from his melancholy and glanced over. "Yeah, they were put to death by the Plutarkian high council."

Charley reached out and placed her hands on the Mice's shoulders. Neither of them liked the expression she wore. "I have a plan. It involves you, and your injured friend. If you're game, that is…"

The alarm shattered Steel's sleep like a cannonade breaking glass. The bells at the tips of her braids jangled, but were swiftly silenced as she swung out of her hammock. Instinct took over; she glanced down at the bed to wince at Rico's fitful, feverish sleep. She grabbed her rifle from it's home by the door, and slipped an energy pistol into the empty shoulder holster before she entered the common room.

Carbine and Halogen were already present, pointing at display panels that had dropped down from the ceiling. Rimfire, clad only in shorts, and groggy from the interrupted slumber, staggered through his door, while the twins lumbered in from their room. Steel spared the screens a glance, as she set a booted foot on the table to buckle it up.

Three Mice approached the outer gates; all beaten up, battered. No helmets, no gear; and they supported one between them. Steel tilted her head.

"Those…"

Carbine cut her off with a snarl, as the scene before them unfolded. One of the newer Death Squad's was rolled out as the welcome wagon. Ushering the strange Mice through the gates, they surrounded the trio, circling slowly around the courtyard.

"_Carbine, bring your squad to my offices immediately,_" Limburger's voice shrieked over the intercom. Carbine clapped her hands together, and the screens rose back into the ceiling.

"You heard the boss! Let's roll!"

Steel was a silent black ghost behind the five others. Not even her clothing whispered as she moved.

Carbine and Rimfire stood at the positions of honor, at Limburger's left and right hand sides. Behind them, by rank, the others waited. Steel and Halogen, backed by the giant forms of Lug and Torque, all watched the proceedings in silence. They certainly weren't fakes; they smelled enough like Mice to be true. They could still possibly be cleverly created robots, or clones. But the human's couldn't possibly possess that kind of technology. Unless a Plutarkian had given it to them.

Steel's mind swam with ideas, conjectures, and suppositions, but she kept them all silent. The brains and the boss were the ones who would figure this mess out. Steel's luminescent blue eyes focused momentarily upon Carbine. She kept her mouth set in a hard line, her eyes focused on the tall beige Mouse. Throttle. Steel recognized him from the picture Carbine kept hidden in her room. The other two were in the image as well. Modo: the giant gray Mouse with the old-fashioned augment arm, and Vinnie: the Mouse who'd lost his face and his pride to the Plutarkian War. But, to all accounts, even Rimfire's first hand account, they had all been slaughtered in a bizarre crash-landing on Earth, three years ago.

And yet, here they were, pleading with Limburger for shelter, bikes and healing. Steel felt a deep pity for them, for she knew what they would find at the hands of this particular Plutarkian.

"Of course!" Limburger cooed, strutting before the trio like a cock before hens. "Of course I will open my arms to you! If you agree to work for me, that is." His tone lowered, descended into the pits of hell. A snide grin crept across his wide, piscine lips. "Only a year… it's such a small price to pay."

The limp white Mouse between the two moaned, as if forcing his companions to make a choice. They were striken; their ears and their eyes animated and worried. Finally, Modo nodded, his notched ears drooping. Throttle heaved a great sigh.

"All right," he purred, in a voice so liquid it seemed to seep through the room. Carbine's tail swished in response, curling through the air as if encased in a private memory. "All right, a year."

Limburger squealed with glee just then, clasping his hands together like a child. But as quickly as the puerile emotion came, it vanished in a puff of demands. Slamming his fist upon his desk, he summoned Karbunkle and his orderlies. A viscous grin split his lips as the unconscious Mouse was wrested from the arms of his comrades. A withering cry turned Steel's stomach; she focused upon Karbunkle, as the doctor remained to glance over he remaining two.

"Yes, yes, good. Good." He hummed to himself as he poked and prodded. "An old model. Not my best work…" Karbunkle's dry cackle made Steel straighten up, his goggled eyes turning towards her after a moment. "But certainly not shabby."

"Halogen, show them to the Quarantine Quarters. We want to make sure these vermin don't have any diseases… don't we?" Limburger caught the glares of his Death Squad, and smirked at their expense.

"Speaking of which, your cheddar cheesiness," Karbunkle mused as the Mohawk Mouse stepped forward. As Halogen laid a hand on each of their shoulders, Karbunkle motioned for Steel and Rimfire to come closer. "How is our rodent of repetitive rebounding doing?"

Rimfire glanced blankly at Steel. But the black Mouse simply shook her head. "She's got a fever again, Doctor. And… I don't think the sleeping draught is working very well; she's still having nightmares."

The doctor seemed to think, closing his eyes behind the goggles. "We shall just have to try something... new..."

Vinnie woke, groggy and sore; his head felt like it was filled with cotton, and his side… Every muscle down his torso was tight and knotted up, uncomfortable, despite the sweet smelling sheets and the squishy mattress. Content, he lay in the bed for what seemed like hours, swaying between wakefulness and sleep. Finally, he yawned, breathing deep…

And gagging on the stench of Plutarkian that invaded his senses. His sleepiness began to melt, leaving his head clear and wary. Flickering memories drifted through his skull, a dreamscape filled with nightmarish images. Chicago, dead and gone. Charley, angry, hateful of them. His own bro's all too quiet, defeated. Despite the screaming of his muscles, and the sharp, stabbing ache that lanced through his torso, Vinnie pushed himself up, to finally survey his surroundings.

Cold fear dripped down his spine, levying fines against his body. This place was all too familiar; the surgical cleanliness, the Plutarkian technology. Numbly, Vinnie traced his fingers down his ribs, a lightweight plaster, over a pressure bandage greeted his fingers, as did the bumpy surface of a laser suture. His bandoliers were gone, and a quick scan of the room revealed no trace of them. So, his only choice became clear. He was going to have to find his bros and find out what was going on.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and immediately grabbed the blanket, pulling it up as he moved. They had taken his pants too! The fiends! Blushing, Vinnie swallowed and looked around again. This time it wasn't so bad, his pants and boots, as well as his trusty bandana were all neatly folded upon a chair not too far from him. Grinning, he pressed his feet to the cold floor, and crept to the chair. His tail lashing through the air, Vinnie dressed himself quickly. He patted his chest; how naked he felt without his bandoliers.

From the stench of things, Plutarkians overran this place, more than he'd ever known to be in or even around Chicago. But there was the question… was he still even in Chicago? Well, one thing was for certain, this was still Karbunkle's laboratory level. The antiseptic smell lay beneath the stinkfish, but it was still there, hinting of cinnamon and cloves. Vinnie pushed the door open slightly, and peered out into the hallway.

Humans scurried past, all wearing white lab coats, or purple uniforms, and they all seemed to be on a mission of some kind. Vinnie's red eyes widened; there were so many of them! And not a single one paid him any attention. As he slipped out into the hall, he wondered why he hadn't even been restrained, nor locked in. Things were all wrong, and it bristled his fur to think about it. He let the flow of humanity sweep him down the hallway a short distance. Then, something beneath the steady buzz of the throng caught his attention.

With one well-placed footstep he was out of the throng, pressed against a wall. He listened again, letting his ears twitch at the slightest hint of sound. He smiled. There it was again, a weak cry, a feminine voice calling for… something? Chivalry, honor; hey! He'd be a hero if he could rescue a damsel in distress! Maybe she'd even reward him with a kiss, or something! His mind was made up; he would brave the trials of whatever kind of stinkfish was running the place!

He drew a deep breath, and his side twinged, causing him to flinch slightly. For a moment, but only for a moment, he wondered if he would be smarter to lay low for a while. "Nah," he muttered to himself, wading through the humans toward the door he figured the sound was coming from. It, too, was unlocked. They didn't care too much about escapee's around here, Vinnie figured. Maybe because they were on a spaceship! Maybe because there was no escape from these particular stinkfish? A thousand reasons slipped through Vinnie's mind as he edged the door open slightly.

There were two figures in the room… and one of them was…

"Karbunkle!" Vinnie spat his name out like a curse.

The doctor turned at the sound of his name, and a little smile suddenly played on his lips. "Aaah," he rasped, softly. "My albino athlete returns to the waking world! Good, good! Come, come, hold this for me, would you?"

Vinnie blinked. He had expected the guards to get called, or a gun to be pulled. Not to be offered an IV bag of some amber liquid, and a smile! Dumbfounded, Vinnie approached, letting the door close behind him. "Uhm, aren't you, like, supposed to try to kill me or something?" he finally asked, accepting the bag.

"Hold it up, yes yes, like that." Karbunkle directed, pushing his arm higher into the air. "Why would I? You work for his fragrant frommageness; you are under contract." He chuckled dryly.

The second figure that Vinnie had seen, was the one lying in the bed, almost completely motionless except for the slow, shallow rise and fall of the blankets. Karbunkle had a small, thin arm held like it was porcelain in his hand, and was trying to get the IV's needle past the dull, gunmetal gray fur. Vinnie peered over the doc's shoulder.

A girl! A Mouse to boot! Her head lay to the side, facing away from the two of them. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly open as she panted desperately for air. Her hair was lighter, almost silver, but lank and dull. Vinnie's heart lurched as she gave a small, weak cry, corresponding with the needle sliding into the vein. Karbunkle laughed softly again.

"Don't worry, my sweet, this won't hurt much longer," he cooed, to the little female.

Vinnie's stomach twisted as she whimpered again. He couldn't watch any more, so he turned to look at the IV bag she was being administered. _2-methyl-2(methylthio)propionaldehyde O-methylcarbamoyloxime_. "Huh?" Vinnie's brow furrowed, as he tried to read it again. What a long name, what a confusing situation. "I'm under contract?" His brain switched back to the other thing, before it began to slowly spin out of control.

"For a year," Karbunkle mused, while he worked. "Though I wouldn't expect you to remember the agreement…" The goggles, wrapped around his bulbous head, turned slightly towards the white Mouse. "And so, what did you say your name was?"

"Vinnie." He instantly kicked himself for that, maybe he should have gone with a pseudonym, maybe he should have lied. Maybe, he was still dreaming! Yeah, that was it, this was all jus a horrible dream.

"Alright, then Vinnie, hook that bag there," Karbunkle pointed, and stepped away from the bed. "I'll inform your friends that you are conscious."

Relief flooded him; his bros were still alive, and inside this dream too! Curiously, he watched Karbunkle carefully peel the label from the IV bag before he exited the room. Leaving Vinnie alone with the strange, ill Mouse, Karbunkle carefully closed the door behind him. Vinnie looked down at her, and idly wondered if what she had was contagious.

Her head lolled, one thin arm tried to move, and Vinnie noticed for the first time that she was restrained. Her mouth moved, like she was trying to speak. And Vinnie crept closer to her bedside. For a split second, he was the focus of a pair of lavender eyes, before they rolled back in her head. Lavender eyes. He'd never seen the like on a Mouse before. He leaned there, by her bedside, listening to her breath laboriously, stunned by sheer, unmasked terror that had captured his gaze.

Slowly, he lowered himself into a chair by the bedside; he ran his hand over his Fleximask, and wondered just when this horror dream would be getting over. He wasn't sure how long he was sitting there, his head held between his hands, but the hydraulics in the door hissed as it slid open. Vinnie looked up, and smiled. His bros returned the action, as they all met in the center of the room.

"Vin-man! You're alive!" Modo dropped an arm over Vinnie's shoulders, and grinned widely. "We were gettin' worried!"

"Who's she?" Throttle asked, giving a head bob in the direction of the bed's occupant.

Vinnie shrugged, causing the beige Mouse to herd the other two further away. "What's going on?" Vinnie then asked, thoroughly confused. "Why aren't we kicking stinkfish tail?"

Throttle sighed. "Long story," he muttered, crouching easily to the floor. His tail swirled against the cold steel as he waited for the other two to join him. "But the short of it is... we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto."

Vinnie swallowed hard. "You mean, I'm not dreamin?" He deflated, shaking his head. "This is great, just great! So? What do we do?"

Throttle then shrugged. "We sit tight. We're getting assignments soon, so we just have to do our best to fit in. If we play our cards right, maybe we can bring down this place from the inside out."

"But... but there's nothing left to fight for!" Vinnie protested. "Earth's toast; Mars is toast! I... I can't believe the fish won..."

"They haven't won yet," Modo rumbled, patting Vinnie's shoulder. "Not while we're still around."

"But... assignments?"

"Death Squads," Throttle answered, taking off his glasses to clean them on his vest. Blindly, he looked around at his bros. "They own us right now, Vinnie; we're nothing but expendable slave labor."

"But on the plus side, Carbine and Rimfire are both alive," Modo tried to smile, but found himself failing miserably. "But, we haven't gotten the chance to talk to them, yet."

"How... how long have we been here?" Vinnie asked, almost afraid to find out.

"Two weeks." Throttle returned his field specs to his face, and rose up smoothly. The clock on the wall showed Plutarkian sidereal time. "We're supposed to be down at the garage putting specs in for our bikes in twenty. Let's get going."

Numbly, Vinnie rose, and glanced back at the young sick Mouse. She stirred weakly, and whimpered in her drug-induced sleep. Feeling guilty for a crime he could not name, Vinnie turned away, and followed his bros out the door.

End Episode Two

Go To Episode Three


	3. Chapter 3

"Okay, so, the Red Line goes to the garage. The Blue Line goes to the cafeteria. The Green one's for the gym. Orange is for Karbunkle's Lab; Yellow is for..." Vinnie trailed off. "What's Yellow again?"

"Yellow Line will lead you to the human's wing, the Black Line leads to the Martian wing. And the Purple Line leads to the head cheese's office," Modo finished, pointing at the painted lines on the floors and walls. "Our rooms are underground and everything. Feels just like... home..." Modo even sobered as he related that. And he scratched the back of his head. "Who'da thunk that a Stinkfish would treat a bunch of Cave Mice so nice?"

"It's called, smart entrepreneurship." A voice purred behind them. "And we'd kindly like you rookies not to block the hallways. I'd hate to have to break your kneecaps on your first day."

Modo and Vinnie parted as they turned. She had snuck up so easily behind them, totally silent on heavy biker boots. She was Martian; her large dish ears were held back, her antennae nearly lying flat against her scalp. Thumping up the corridor behind her were two giant dirty yellow Mice that dwarfed Modo. Between them, they carried a white box, a refrigerator from the looks of it.

"Well, hello to you too, ma'am," Modo replied, amazingly keeping his voice level and calm. One-eyed he could look the tall female almost directly on. She was tall, long limbed and very lean. Bells jingled lightly as she turned to the two brutes behind her.

"Rest on it a moment, boys." As they lowered the clunky piece between them, she turned back towards Vinnie and Modo. "Name's Steel. Alpha Squad." She stuck her hand out. "The thugs behind me are Lug, and Torque. Both Alpha."

Modo hesitantly reached out, accepting her offered hand with his cybernetic one. He introduced himself, and Vinnie quietly. "We're uh... awaiting our assignments." Her grip was strong as she pumped his metal hand once.

"Figured as much." Steel nodded, and gestured back at the two behind her. "Just be careful, Beta and Delta Squads aren't quite so forgiving."

With a heave, Lug and Torque hefted the fridge back onto their shoulders, and followed the stately creature down the hallway. Modo stared after them until they vanished around a corner. "Oh, mama," he muttered. "We've gotta lot of catchin' up to do."

Vinnie shivered. "She's scary. It isn't natural to be that quiet!" Modo glanced over at him and swallowed. Without speaking, they both decided that the safest place to be was locked in their temporary rooms away from whatever else might come down the corridor.

Every human in the facility wore identical white jumpsuits. Numbers were embroidered on the left breast, in the stead of names. Two men, and two women, worked the cafeteria line, spooning out heaps of grayish slop into small metal dishes. Vinnie received his glop without comment, but stirred the tin spoon through it as he followed Throttle and Modo towards a table. Lumps moved beneath the ash-gray surface, and it smelt like week old sweat socks.

"What is this crap?" he griped quietly, hoping only his bros would hear him. "Where's the hotdogs, and the root beer?"

Throttle just shook his head. He was busy scanning the tables for some open seats, but was rapidly getting shut down. Glares and snarls greeted his very eye contact, as he threaded his ways through the seats. There must have been at least a hundred Mice crammed into the small space, most wearing the gaudy purple and red livery of Limburger. Finally, at the back of the cafe, he spotted exactly what he was looking for. Her black hair was shorn short, a functional military cut, but the scar down her muzzle was all he needed to see.

"Carbine?" Throttle's smooth voice cut through the hum. Her table was nearly empty, only six of the ten chairs containing occupants. He felt his chest tighten as all eyes turned to him. Carbine's dark eyes were like ice, containing no hint of recognition, no mote of softness.

"What do you want?" she demanded, cutting off the drone of conversation at the table.

Throttle wanted to do nothing more than rub the back of his neck, but his hands were full. He settled for shifting uneasily from foot to foot. "Well, I was wonderin' if we could join you?"

Silence, broken only by a nervous titter from the wild-eyed creature sitting beside Carbine. She cast him a glare, and, with his red Mohawk shaking, he silenced himself. Carbine rose slowly, and the other seemed to tense. "I don't know who you think you are; and I'm sure that your not who I think you are, so impose on some other Squad."

"C'mon, Throttle, let's just go," Modo rumbled.

The blue-eyed Mouse sat up a little straighter. "Carbine, we need Outriders."

"You don't have to remind me," Carbine snapped to the shadows. She sighed deeply, massaging her temple with one hand. "Rimfire, your thoughts?"

Rimfire tousled his hair, staring unashamedly at Modo. Surely the boy would know his own uncle, and Modo prayed for a miracle. "I think..." Rimfire began quietly. "I think that... that we need Outriders."

Carbine threw her hands suddenly into the air. Without a word, she twisted, knocking over her chair, and stalking towards the doors. Something glinted in the Mohawk Mouse's eyes and he rose to move after her.

"My sweet, my princess, wait for me!" he called, trailing after the female like a mooncalf.

"My sweet?" Vinnie snorted, nearly laughing aloud.

"My princess?" Modo echoed.

"Don't knock it," Rimfire cut in. "Halogen's been there for Carbine since..." He motioned towards Throttle. "Well, since you guys, uhm... died."

Throttle set his tray down; his bros instantly following suit. "Yeah, well about that." Throttle returned, as he stirred his slop. "We didn't die... we got captured." He was grasping at straws now; he still hardly felt that their cover story was plausible. "We've been slave labor for the human's resistance for years."

"What is this stuff?" Vinnie asked again, sniffing a spoonful.

"It's a nutrient mash," Steel responded from the corner. "Just wait till you get a load of the protein shake for breakfast!"

The twins chuckled darkly at her cynicism. Torque twirled his topknot around his neck, and pretended to hang himself. Lug grinned. "I agree, bro... rather die than eat this stuff sometimes."

"Hey, it keeps us alive," Rimfire laughed softly. "I'll make sure Carbine files the paperwork, guys. We want you in our Squad, even if she's going to be difficult about it."

"Carbine doesn't know any way besides difficult," Throttle remarked.

"The pots calling the kettle black it seems," Steel purred, rising from her seat. "I've read your files, seen the documents. Hell, early on in the invasion of Mars, the Plutarkians tried to hire me to assassinate you."

"But you almost got Camembert instead," Modo finished, pointing his spoon at her.

Steel chuckled. "Seems I have a fan club," she patted his cybernetic shoulder as she moved past him. "Best keep it in your pants. Rimfire, I'm going to check on my sister. I'll find you and Carbine later."

Rimfire nodded, as she swiftly, and silently moved off. "Look, guys, U-uncle," Rimfire stuttered, as if he was afraid to say it. "I really hate to do this to you, but... I need you to prove you're who you are... y'catch me?"

Throttle sighed. "I catch you. You want to do this with your uncle, kid?"

Rimfire nodded, but Modo sidled uneasily. "I... I ain't so good at this..." Rimfire was already walking around the table to sit beside the large Mouse. Rimfire settled into his seat, and the slender antennae sparkled to life.

"Fuck!" Vinnie swore loudly, spitting out a mouthful of the gray slop. "That's gross! Where the hell do they get this stuff?" He spun, and instantly froze as Throttle's hand rose to smack sense into him.

"Quiet, Vinnie," Throttle warned softly. Vinnie watched Modo's eye close slowly, as Rimfire's antennae touched his bros.

_"Ain't she a beauty?" Modo asked quietly _(his voice echoing strangely inside Rimfire's head)_. "Seven hundred CC motor, dual carb, fuel injected. C'mon you two, wanna go for a ride?"_

_ Two bundles, one blonde, one brunette with a vibrant red streak, bounced for attention on either side of the motorcycle. Two arms scooped downwards, cradling each one securely in thick, knotted muscles. _(Young)_ Rimfire and his sister Primer grinned gleefully up. A swell of love filled him, so full he nearly burst with tears; he had built the bike specifically to take his sisters two precious kids on long rides, fishing and hunting, and all the things that a proper uncle should do. His ribs tightened, squeezed from both sides by strong little arms, and two small voices chiming up._

_ "I love you, Uncle Momo!"_

"Uncle Modo," Rimfire whispered weakly, his voice shaking as he pulled away. He controlled himself carefully, unwilling to let the rock in the pit of his stomach make him ill. Modo wasn't so lucky, as tears ran from his good eye soaking a trail through his dark fur.

Modo reached out, patting Rimfire's arm delicately. "You're a good kid," he muttered. "A real good kid."

Rimfire smiled shakily. "You guys should really eat. We only get two meals a day, and we're due out for patrol in thirty minutes." He gave a hesitant gesture to the disgusting soup before the other three. "It's not always a good idea to skip a meal around here."

"But... but..." Vinnie sputtered.

"It's all we have," Rimfire interjected. "I'm second in Alpha, so, do me a favor, get used to taking orders. Carbine runs us like she used to run the Army."

"Tough and hard," Throttle murmured, glancing off in the direction Carbine had fled in.

"Look, I'm sure you guys must have suffered pretty badly," Rimfire rose, pushing his plate away slowly.

"Humes can be tough," Lug grunted.

"Left the li'l one with more broked ribs than we could count," Torque finished. Vinnie rubbed his side self-consciously.

"Eat, rest, and I'll see you guys at the garage in half an hour." Rimfire grinned, tilted his head towards his uncle. "And for what it matters, I trust you guys."

"At least somebody does," Throttle muttered.

Lug and Torque rose as one Mouse, gathering up empty bowls and trays. "We'll be in the gym if you need us."

Vinnie blinked at their huge shadows. "Can you guys _get_ bigger?" The two of them chuckled in response, making Vinnie slightly uneasy.

"So, Green line's garage?" Vinnie asked as they stepped out of the cafeteria.

"Green line's gym. Red's garage," Throttle corrected.

"Man, I need a cheat sheet or something," the white Mouse griped. He glanced briefly at the orange line on the floor. That one went back to Karbunkle's lab, and the infirmary; a pang of guilt rolled through him slowly. The little gray Mouse had been trying to tell him something.

"C'mon, bros, the garage is three levels up; and we have ten minutes to meet Rimfire and Carbine there." Throttle started off briskly down the hall. He had gotten no more than four steps when a blaring alarm sliced through the air.

Clutching their ears, the bros fell into a defensive formation instantly; back to back to back, they searched for the source of the noise. A loudspeaker to their left rasped out orders, once in each of two languages. "Alpha Squad report directly to garage level 1. Uhhh, do not pass Go, do not collect..."

Modo glanced at the two behind him. "Greasepit?" He chuckled softly.

"I'm going to take that to mean us, bros!" Throttle answered swiftly. "Let's high tail it!" Throttle sprinted, with Vinnie hot on his heels, and Modo rolling steadily behind.

They arrived at the Garage just as the last few members of Alpha Squad were skidding in. Rimfire was zipping up the front of his uniform, while Carbine looked up to the three bros.

"They need to be fitted for uniforms," she snapped, pointing at them. "But later, right now, we have renegade humes attacking our oil wells. We can't afford another oil fire, ladies and gentlemen. I want everyone to saddle up, and move out. Steel, there's a sniper vantage in the control tower; pick one of the rookies to be your watchman."

"You," Steel pointed at Modo. "Tall dark and gruesome, you keep me safe while I'm in the scope."

"You other two will stick with Rimfire, follow his directions. Torque, Lug, Halogen, you're my unit. Let's lock and load, boys and girls. We get extra rations if we can keep those oil rigs from catching fire." Carbine sent a meaningful glance towards her three rookies. Trust was not something she could waste on the untested, and as far as the ghosts of the past were concerned, they were untested.

Bikes idled ready for the ride; helmets were passed out, fitted and shielded quickly. Modo patted the gas tank of his laid back fatboy. The springs beneath the seat twanged as he settled his weight upon it. There was no loving beep, no twitter of joy in the engine. He sighed heavily.

"Sure ain't no Li'l Darlin'," he muttered.

"No A.I.'s," Throttle observed as he swung a leg over his own ride. Chrome gleamed in the reflection of his face shield. "But all the bells and whistles."

"You'll earn an AI," Rimfire explained. "Nobody's first ride gets one, just incase they don't make it back from their first mission."

"What a rosy thought," Vinnie muttered, revving the engine of his red rocket. The roar of the other engines drowned his voice out. And one by one, they peeled out into the street. One bike remained behind, whistling sullenly from beneath its tarp. Unhappy, it began a system shutdown that would render it 'asleep,' until its owners voice would waken it.

Thick black smoke billowed just outside the eastern boundary of Chicago. It rose into the air like some menacing, bilious creature, hell-bent on blocking the sun from mortal eyes for eternity. Already the smog lay thick, like a blanket between the Sun and Earth, but the level of toxins released by the oil fires only tripled the greenhouse effects. Carbine looked back at the three Mice idling behind her. Another explosion rocked the field, her visor auto-tinting to accommodate the blinding flash of light.

"Rimfire," she asked tersely into her headset. "You in position?"

" Affirmative. " His voice sounded oddly hollow, and quiet. Perhaps the view from the west side was worse.

"Steel, I need intel."

" Three designated targets moving from Well Four, to Well Five. " Steel took a long breath into the mic. " Confirmed identities, Mills. McCyber...holy shit... "

"What?" Carbine waited four breaths before asking, trying to get a coherent answer from the sniper. "Steel, report!"  
There was more silence. " Davidson has the Peacemaker rebuilt! "

"Fuck!" Carbine hissed, twisting around to gesture to her team. Without hesitation, the three loaded their weapons with armor piercing rounds. After a few moments, a hesitant voice purred over the speakers in all their helms.

" Just what is ... the Peacemaker?" " Carbine knew that voice intimately, and her heart fluttered upon hearing it again. She held her tongue, and held her breath as well.

" A tank, Throttle, a really _big_ tank. " Rimfire answered, as a low rumble threatened to drown out his voice.

" Rimfire, get your tail out of there! " Steel fairly shouted over the comm. " Carbine, four clicks west; get behind that fucker and take it out! "

"Don't tell me how to do my job, sniper," Carbine snapped. "Halogen, you got the boom-sticks?"

Halogen's eyes sparkled, a manic sheen glittering on their dark surface. He chuckled softly, the sound echoing weirdly in his helmet. Carbine took his twitchy joy to mean 'yes'.

"All right, Lug, Torque, take out the satellite bikes, the rest of you Mice, Cheese in a Blender, variant four, on my mark," Carbine pushed off, revving her bike's engine as she slid sideways down an embankment. In the distance she could see a small plume of dust moving to intercept a much larger cloud. She quietly ticked down the seconds. "MARK!"

Rimfire, Vinnie and Throttle veered suddenly left, causing the tank's proboscis to swing ponderously after them. Behind them, the twins streaked towards their destination, the two bikes flanking the tank. Laser fire seared the air, mixing the stench of burnt oxygen with the thick black smoke of burning oil. Carbine and Halogen circled the tank in the opposite direction, bringing the monolith to a full stop as it lost sight of it's targets at such close range. Smaller gunports clicked open on the sides, peppering the ground with frantic rounds.

Halogen chuckled, and skidded to a halt behind the tanks massive treads. Boom-sticks were his specialty; demolition and destruction. He waited for a moment, until Steel sounded the clear call from high above. The sticks appeared from a variety of pockets on his personage, and he stuck four or five of them in among the treads of the tank.

"Yaah!" He shouted as bullets pinged off the tanks armor. One large round hit and bored a hole through the armor. "Careful with that fire, mates!" He warned through the comm. "Boom-sticks active!"

"Lets get clear, Mice!" Carbine shouted. "Once that tank starts moving, she's gonna blow!"

The Mice scattered, veering in all directions, disappearing into the thick black smoke. Someone wheezed and coughed, muttering curses under his breath. The tank swiveled it's gunport around, as if searching for targets. With a slow crank, the chink of treads shifted. The end of a stick caught in a gear, and a scream rose from the metalworks. Halogen panted as he glanced back over his shoulder.

"BOOM!" he shouted just a fair second before the first boom-stick ignited. The tank treads exploded with a fury of melted shrapnel. He could almost see the panicked looks on the humans' faces. And it filled him with an odd sense of joy, to know that one had the potential to burn alive inside the tank. His hopes of a human's death were quickly dashed as the hatch popped open.

"Steel?" Carbine asked softly.

" Bogey is not Davidson, I repeat. Not Davidson. " Steel responded as the figure in her scope was decidedly masculine. " Holding fire. "

"Let them go," Carbine ordered as the two bikes, now with three riders, peeled off leaving the half-melted husk of the Peacemaker behind. "Our concern is the oil wells. We need to get those fires out."

"Check it out, man," Vinnie stepped up and struck a pose beside Modo. "I'm almost as dark as you!" Modo couldn't help but chuckle, as he smacked Vinnie's shoulder. A cloud of black soot rose up from the white Mouse, leaving them both chuckling. From the neck up, Vinnie's fur was still pristine and white, but the rest of him, was black as soot. Of course, even Throttle was black with soot, but he had been the first to claim rights to a ten-minute shower.

Leaving the rest of them to wait their turns. Rimfire wasn't taking the wait well; he stood outside of a particular room, arguing softly with Steel. Modo watched the sniper and his nephew closely, making sure she wasn't going to strike, or damage the boy in any way. The female was unpredictable, violent, and all too eerie; all were traits that Modo didn't find the least bit trustworthy. Vinnie continued to talk, but his bro had learned long ago to tune him out. Rambling was a sort of defense mode for the white Mouse, the way he tended to feel most comfortable, listening to his own mouth run.

Lug and Torque were comical with soot drifting off them, playing an almost delicate game of ping-pong against Carbine and Halogen. The twins played mostly with their tails, using their hands for more applicable things, like grooming. When Throttle emerged from the shower room, Halogen instantly claimed next space, and abandoned the table. Carbine caught the paddle he dropped to her, and looked around bewildered. Damp fur tousled, and a roguish grin in place, Throttle sidled right up to the table, taking the paddle out of Carbine's hand.

"Don't mind if I do," he smiled cordially, smacking the little ball back towards the twins. _Tack – tock_. The ball bounced and struck Lug's paddle, sailing over the short net back towards Carbine. Carbine spared Throttle a momentary glare, before she struck the ball back.

"What do you want?" she snapped, as Torque returned her volley with ease.

"Just to talk," Throttle was quick to step up, to fill in any questions she had. "We're not your enemy. Look, I know there are some things we just don't understand, but there are reasons for everything." The ball cracked off his paddle, as Throttle delivered a wicked slice over the net. Lug was fast, a warm cloud of soot following him as he lunged for the ball. "You just have to trust me."

Carbine bristled silently at that, crushing the volleyed ball with a savage backhand. Torque watched as it sailed over both their heads, colliding with the wall opposite. "I trusted you to come back to me! I trusted you to understand my obligations with the army! Well, I don't trust you, whoever _you _are, anymore!"

The paddle fell with a clatter, and she huffed in a cloud of smoke, disappearing into the shared bathroom. Somewhere in Throttle's body, something froze, as he stared after her retreat with a gaping mouth. The room had fallen deadly silent sometime during the exchange, and now, he could feel it keenly. Running a hand through his mop of hair, the Mouse offered a nervous laugh, and ducked out of the room as fast he could.

Modo began to rise, but he thought better of the action as soon as he stood. Numbly remaining there, he watched the door to their room close slowly. Glancing down, Modo tried to offer a crooked tooth smile to Vinnie. Another door closed, then another, the second one eerily quiet, and Modo found that only three Mice remained.

"We should all get some sleep, Uncle," Rimfire mentioned quietly. "I'll have an extra bunk if you want it. Halogen won't be coming back tonight."

Modo sighed, as Vinnie's voice piped up, asking Rimfire just what he meant by that. Glancing at the bathroom door, the grayfurred Mouse knew exactly what his nephew meant. This wasn't going to be pleasant when Throttle derived a conclusion. "Let's all get clean. There has to be more showers in this place than just this one."

"RIMFIRE!"

The boy was out of his hammock before he realized that he was awake. He gave a yelp as his feet hit the floor and he stumbled, shaking himself in to awareness.

"Rimfire, blankets!" Steel was shouting from the common room. Rimfire grabbed the blankets off the lower hammock, getting a rumble from his bleary-eyed uncle. He had to be fast; he knew that tone. A halfhearted apology tumbled from his mouth as he bolted out the door. Steel was already in her glory, with the situation well under control.

"Lug, Torque, clear the halls to the medlab! Rimfire! Dammit, you took long enough! Hold this!" She thrust a bucket into his arms as she hauled the blankets out of his grip. Rimfire glanced down.

"Eww..." he breathed, holding the bucket at arms length. The black Mouse was bundling her sister up into the blankets. The twins had already started lumbering down the halls, and Rimfire was left holding the puke bucket.

"She started vomiting blood about ten minutes ago," Steel growled matter-of-factly. Her shoulders beneath the tanktop flexed as she carefully hoisted the frail Mouse into her arms. "You, there!"

Vinnie yawned, and stretched, as he peered from a doorway at the intense blue glow facing him. "What's the—"

"I need your help," she grunted as she sidled past him. "Go make sure Karbunkle's awake." In her arms, Ricochet heaved, and weakly yelped. Nothing came up, Rimfire was relieved, but her face was knit into such pain.

He looked back to see Vinnie still hovering in the door. "Go! Go! Go! We gotta help Rico!"

Vinnie blinked, and ran; while the young commander worried.

"Out! Out!" Karbunkle fluttered his hands at the Mice. Steel glared at him, the working of the muscles beneath her black fur was like music for his eyes. Rimfire (the boy possessed too much common sense at times!) placed a hand on Steel's arm, and led her out. The third, the new Mouse, lingered behind a moment to two longer than he should have. It was all the good doctor needed. "But you... you stay. I have use of a good strong Mouse."

Steel turned in the doorway, glaring back. "But!"

Karbunkle pointed at her, one long bony finger waggling slowly. "Tut!" The black Mouse deflated, and slunk out. Karbunkle's smile was not entirely pleasant; infact, he aimed to make the white Mouse more uncomfortable.

"Hold this," he offered up a vial of thin amber liquid. "Be careful not to spill it." With a dastardly grin and a gleam of his goggles, the doctor turned toward the sink. Vinnie trembled. He had to get his mind off the laboratory on Mars.

"Hey, violet," he whispered to the prone form as he sidled over. Her eyes flickered open for a second.

"Sissy?" Vinnie had to lean close to hear her whisper.

"No, babycakes, it's just the Vin-meister." He caught himself mid-flirt, and laughed softly. Glancing up as Karbunkle reappeared, Vinnie noticed his hand tingled unpleasantly. Moving the vial from one hand to the other, revealed some of the amber liquid had sloshed out onto his hand. Just as he began to curse his luck, the gray Mouse moved suddenly, her thin fingers wrapping around his arm, causing him to dump the rest of the liquid to the floor.

"Don'... don' let 'im..." she whispered, trailing off as Karbunkle slid a needle beneath her fur.

The doctor smiled again, and a chill crept up Vinnie's spine. "No worries; I have plenty more of her medicine!" He reached over the prone Mouse, spindly fingers nimbly buckling a thick leather strap around her wrist. Even drugged, the Mouse's eyes still opened; she still struggled.

Vinnie's hand throbbed. He grabbed a chair to keep the room from spinning. Woozy, he sank into the seat, and felt like his stomach was trying to crawl out of his throat. He swallowed heavily and watched the doctor fix an IV drip to Ricochet's arm. Something in him raged at how small she was; how the bones of her shoulders jutted; how the hollows of her collarbones were too deep. He gripped the chair and forced himself to his feet. Karbunkle raised a brow, watching the determined Mouse advance. Calmly, the doctor smiled and peeled the label from the drip bag, dropping it into the trash as he moved away.

Vinnie's vision blacked at the edges, but he focused on the waste can. He hit the floor two steps later with a resounding crack.

The medlab leapt into focus as he nearly gagged on the stench of epsom. Rimfire crouched by his side; Steel was beside bed, smoothing the patient's hair. Of Karbunkle there was no sign. Vinnie looked around again, and eyed the amber bag.

"The trash!" he chirruped, lurching to his feet, while Rimfire grabbed his arm to protest. Vinnie sniffled as he bent down, fishing around until he found just what he was looking for. "Ahha!" he exclaimed, holding up the prize triumphantly.

Steel glared at him, but Rimfire took the label. "What's this?" Carefully unsticking it from itself, he read it. His brow furrowed, and he held it out. "Steel?"

The black Mouse grunted, patting her sister's thin arm before crossing to stand with the boys. With her hands on her hips, she watched for the youth to finish removing the label from his fingers. She was all too happy to rip the label from Rimfire's fur, making him yelp and rub his fingertips. Those glowing blue eyes narrowed, and a slow glare formed.

"Just what is this?" she asked softly.

Vinnie shrugged. "It's whatever is in that bag." His mask reflected the amber liquid as he nodded towards it. Grimacing, Steel folded the label again, and stuck it into the breast pocket of her uniform. "What are we going to do with it?"

"Halogen was a chemist before the wars," Rimfire explained as Steel left the room. "Do you think you can handle Steel while I watch over Ricochet?"

"Handle her?" Vinnie jabbed a thumb over his shoulder and laughed. "I've handled tougher cases!"

"Good! Go!" Rimfire gave him a shove that sent him stumbling out of the room. The hydraulics whined as the door began to shut. Glancing back over his shoulder, Vinnie glimpsed Rimfire rubbing the bridge of his muzzle, and sighing. It wasn't his place, but Vinnie felt jealous that the youth had opted to stay with the girl.

"STEEL! It's four-thirty in the morning!" Carbine couldn't slam the door in the Mouse's face; Steel's arm barely quivered as her commanding officer strained against the door.

"Halogen," Steel's eyes were only for the svelt male lounging in bed. "I need your educational opinion."

"Steel! Get out of this room, this instant!" Carbine shouted in her ear, giving up her fight for a slammed door. Looking down, Steel sighed. Carbine had only a blanket wrapped around her, her eyes storming like a sand demon. The black Mouse shrugged her off again.

"This is about my sister, Halogen," Steel muttered, as the red-furred Mouse stretched languidly. He rose, clad only in his fur, and sauntered over to Carbine. Kissing her cheek, he bent down to fetch a pair of pants, and resolutely stepped past Steel into the common room. Steel smirked, as she looked back at Carbine. Reaching out, she put Carbine's hand back on the edge of the door. "Here, you can have your door-slamming temper tantrum now. Be a good four-year old and clean up your toys too!"

Steel spun on her heel, and followed Halogen into the common area. Behind her, she could hear Carbine sputtering, searching for a retort, but the only sound the commander made was the slamming of the bedroom door. Steel sighed, as she flopped down next to Halogen on the couch.

"How the hell do you do it?" she asked, fishing around in her pocket.

"The perks are nice." His eyes gave off a golden sparkle that stopped the sniper from further questions. "So what do you have for me?" He took the small label from her hands, and carefully unfolded it. His mouth pursed, a dark line appeared slowly behind his eyes. "Oh, dear…"

Sitting up a little straighter, Steel scowled. "I don't like the sound of that."

"_2-methyl-2(methylthio)propionaldehyde O-methylcarbamoyloxime_," Halogen intoned. Then he sighed, pinching the bridge of his muzzle with his forefinger and thumb. He wouldn't meet Steel's intense, glowing gaze. "Humes would call this stuff… rat poison."

End Episode Three

Go To Episode Four


	4. Chapter 4

Episode Four

Some Secrets Should Stay Silent

"Throttle's communiqué says something about a monkeywrench," Jack's brow twisted in worry. "We're still meeting the same place, the same time, but he wants us to be prepared for a tag-a-long."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Charley muttered a string of swears beneath her breath. She should have known better than to trust those Mice. They were still Mice after all. Greedy, self-righteous, pig-headed, fish-kissers. "I don't think we should tell Brock about the rendezvous."

"And I am doing nothing but agreeing with the woman I love," Jack seemed to pounce then, forcing a break in the worried tension. His arms wrapped around Charlene's slim waist, and he pulled her tightly against him. The warroom was quiet for a while as they simply held each other, feeling one another breathe, while they both slowly began to relax.

"Do you ever think we should just give up?" Charley's quiet voice broke the silence, shaking slightly as she squeezed her husband tighter.

At first, Jack held a stunned silence. "We can't give up, baby."

"We could. We can run; there has to be other free humans out there. We can go someplace that we can try to be normal; somewhere that I'm not in charge." Jack stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. But she continued, oblivious to his comforts. "I hate sitting around and waiting for Mouse or Plutarkian to come knocking down our doors. I want to take the fight to them; I want to hit them so hard they remember what a fight we human's can put up. I want... I want..."

"To not have to rely on three strange Martian's for your main offensive?" Jack supplied lightly.

Charley sighed, and nodded, rubbing her nose against his chest. Jack lifted her chin up, smiling down into her beautiful green eyes.

"Our meeting is in a few hours," he whispered to her. "We have time."

"Are you?"

"Positive." He wiggled his eyebrows with Marxian flair.

Charley grinned, and couldn't help but giggle. "You are a scoundrel!"

"Karbunkle!"

The glass door shattered as a giant Size 12 boot thrust through it. The soldering iron in the scientist's hand slipped and fell into his lap. Instantly, Karbunkle learned a new twelve-step jig that put out the fire the hot metal struck on his jacket. Whipping around, the good doctor came face to sternum with the last person he wanted to see.

"Oh, Steel, what can I do for you?" he simpered, wringing his hands together as he backed away. "Perhaps a tall latte? Or some pure espresso?"

"I want your fucking head, on a platter full of shit, you egotistical megalomaniac!" Steel snarled.

"What? I don't understand?"

"Of course you don't, you fucking three-toed primate. I can't even fucking cry because of what you did to me, understand that?" Steel reached down, curling her hand in his white lab coat. Her bicep flexed and Karbunkle felt his feet leave the ground. He swallowed heavily.

"Of course, you can't," he managed out weakly. "Your eyes are my greatest achievement yet! Wh-why would you want to cry?"

"Because my wonderful, loving, spirits-fearing sister is _DEAD_, because of you!" Her grip tightened, and her brilliant blue eyes began to glow. Karbunkle fought to keep his composure.

"Dead?" The word exited his mouth sounding far more steeped in feminine terror than it should have.

"Dead." She snarled the word, and carelessly threw the scientist across the room. Karbunkle hit the far wall, sounding like a wet rag doll. A few moments after he slipped to the floor, he no longer moved. Scowling and angry, Steel didn't notice until she needed an answer from the doctor.

"Karbunkle? Karbunkle?" She remained where she was standing, watching the inert form in the corner for some time. "Oh, shit."

Kneeling down, she shook the doctor's arm. Nothing. Poking his bulbous head granted no response either. She nudged his foot, tweaked his nose, and even removed his goggles to silence. A tiny worm in her consciousness knew what had happened, and it even took a perverse glee in the situation. She could have giggled if she hadn't been in fear for her life. Karbunkle's body slipped a little further as she stepped away from it. Like a puppet cut from its strings, the corpse simply _was_ there, mocking her. Steel rubbed her face, pinching her muzzle and smacking herself to assure she was not dreaming.

_This is a laboratory_, she told herself quietly. Any number of these contraptions could have caused... well, could have simulated what had just happened. She kept looking around, being extra careful to not actually push any buttons. _What were you expecting?_ She scolded herself soundly after a few minutes. _A button labeled "Time Machine?"_

After about twenty minutes of searching for something that could help her, Steel gave up. She surveyed the body, her hands resting on her hips, as she regarded its cooling, glassy eyes. Footsteps sounded too close in the hall. Steel had to move fast. Grabbing the still smoking hunk of iron from the stand, she held it tight against the right side of her face. The smell of burning flesh and fur churned her stomach, threatening to relieve her of the morning gruel. Those eyes that Karbunkle had been so proud of moments ago calculated and measured, finding the perfect trajectory within milliseconds. Steel placed the iron prod on the floor in the proper place, and then pressed her hand against the burnt mar on her face.

"Karbunkle!"

Steel's hopes dropped through the floor. Around the corner, fixing his purple threads with huge ham-fists, came Limburger, sauntering in like he owned the place. Quietly, Steel reminded herself that he did indeed own this place. A single brow arched as he drew to a stop before Steel. She threw a finger towards the cooling corpse in the corner, before he even managed to open his mouth.

"Boss, I can explain," she started quietly, side-stepping slightly to unblock his view. "He hit me first." Inwardly, Steel groaned; surely she could have come up with something better that the puerile drivel she had just spouted.

"Damn," Limburger breathed, his wide mouth splitting into a frown. "I had hoped to keep this one for more than a few months." He seemed rather resigned about the death of his head scientist. Steel's brows arched. He held a pristine white glove up, motioning for her to remain silent for a few moments longer. From his pocket, Limburger withdrew a radio. It squelched. "Send up Number Six Four Three, on the double."

Steel's jaw clenched. 643? Her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth, pressing up against her front teeth so hard it grew numb. "You mean?" She couldn't bring herself to say it. "He's a... a..."

"Clone." It fell from Limburger's mouth like a mealworm escaping death. "The six hundredth and forty third of the good Doctor to awaken, to be precise." He grinned then, as the hydraulic lift buzzed, and two human orderlies appeared to clear away the corpse.

Steel's ear twitched, once. Her bells jangled as she stepped aside, allowing the humans to pass undisturbed. "You have the technology?"

Limburger nodded slowly. "If you wanted, I could have your sister back to you. Hale, healthy and loud, as she always was."

Steel twitched again. "But... how do I..."

"Know that you are indeed... you?" Limburger chuckled as the distress became more apparent on the stoic Mouse's face. "You don't."

The orderlies disappeared back down the hydraulic shaft, while moments later, the front entrance to the lab hissed open. Yawning, and stretching as if he had just woken from a long nap, was Doctor Karbunkle.

"At least Rimfire trusts us," Modo muttered under his breath. The helmet comms picked up every breath, every last sniffle. But both his bros were quiet as they motored carefully through the decimated landscape. Halogen's jamming frequency was still working, they could hear no radio static from Limburger's base, but they could hear each other, and the labored breathing of Modo's passenger. "We're almost there, little lady. Almost there."

" How's she holding up? " Throttle sounded tinny and sharp through the cheap speaker.

"Hard to tell," Modo answered, unable to disguise the concern in his voice. "She hasn't changed, I don't think."

" That's a good sign, right? " Vinnie sounded too concerned, constantly glancing back over his should. The shield of his helmet caught the fading, pale sun, and glinted brightly.

" Easy there, ace; " Throttle's bike swerved slightly, avoiding a hole blown in the cracked road. " She'll be fine. "

Modo frowned, keeping silent. They were coming up fast on the old Diamond Mart. The glass dome of the trading structure had been blasted away, leaving minute sparkling shards glittering all over the road. Modo slowed down, keeping himself between his two bros. They surveyed the area.

In the center of the rubble, mostly disguised by the huge cambered chunks of concrete all around, was the Peacemaker. As they drew closer, they realized that it wasn't the original tank. This was a smaller construct, but it looked no less deadly. Flanking the tank were two motorcycles, idling quietly in the heavy air. Throttle was the first to stop, cutting his engine, setting the bike to rest on its kickstand. Behind him, he heard his bros hit their own kill switches.

From the shadow of the tank, Brock and Jack emerged. Brock carried a gun that was nearly as large as he was, from the rear of the weapon, a bundle of wires as thick as an arm trailed back, hooking to the tank at some invisible point. Jack's arms were crossed.

"Where's Charley?" Throttle asked, as he pulled his helmet off.

"In Twoey." With a jab over his shoulder, Jack indicated the small tank. "She can hear everything we say. What the hell is that?"

Throttle turned to see what Jack could. Vinnie was helping Modo get the bundled burden off the bike. Throttle's heart lurched as Jack pushed past him.

"Is this the monkey wrench you mentioned?" McCyber demanded. "You bring us a dead Mouse?"

"She's not dead!" Vinnie challenged, shoving Jack away from the girl. "She's sick! She needs help."

Jack fumed, eyeing his jacket were the white Mouse had touched him. "If she's contagious..."

Throttle jumped forward, intervening. "She's been poisoned. Just hear us out on this, please?"  
Jack began to retort, but the hatch on Twoey hissed, and popped open. Charley shook her hair free of the helm she wore. "Stand down, Brock, you can put the Gat away." She climbed from the hatch to the fore of the tank, hopping from the treads down to the ground with a grunt. Brock lowered the huge weapon he carried at her command, but he didn't completely relinquish it. "Jack, we made a deal; we have to finish what he began. What have you learned, Mouse?"

Something inside Throttle hurt to be addressed that way. But he took a deep breath, and continued nonetheless. "The Mice inside the compound. They're not doing anything willingly. This one, Ricochet, was being poisoned, and only if Alpha did something right did she get any treatment."

"Except her treatment wasn't treatment," Vinnie interjected, coming forward slightly. "Karbunkle kept poisoning her. He tried to poison me!"

"So?" Charley gestured for Throttle to continue, turning a cold shoulder to the emphatic Mouse.

"We faked Ricochet's death so we could smuggle her out of the compound. Maybe if we can make her healthy again, Alpha squad will rebel against the Plutarkians." Throttle finished. "We can take out Limburger from the inside out, just like you planned."

"No self-respecting Mouse would be caught working for stinkfish." Modo muttered, smoothing the girl's fur with his metal fingers. "Guys, she's gettin' awful warm."

Charley sighed and rubbed her temples. "I am so going to regret this. Load her into the P.M. 2; we'll see if Danny can do anything for her."

Compulsively, Vinnie ran forward and hugged the human. "Oh, thank you thank you thank you!" He twittered, before hastily releasing her and flushing bright red. Charley wiped herself off with disgust as she backed away from him. Vinnie's eyes were screwed tightly shut so he couldn't see her face.

As Modo moved by them, Throttle put his hand on Vinnie's bicep. "I warned you, bro," he said quietly.

"I know..." Vinnie murmured turning his back to the humans. "I know."

"Now, Steel, my dear Mouse," Limburger took a step forward, reaching out one of his pristine white gloved hands towards her. Steel recoiled. "I'm not going to hurt you, my dear. I am afraid that you know too much, though. The good doctor will have to rectify that."

"Rectification, your rotund rodent renovator, is what I do best," Karbunkle wheezed with a laugh.

Steel's fists curled shut, and rose to defend herself. She wasn't about to let them take her, not without a fight. She ground her teeth, without Rico, she had nothing left to lose. "You've already taken my mousity; you're not about to have my memory."

"Gentlemen," Limburger's voice and demeanor darkened, and the hydraulic shaft opened again. Steel glanced behind her, the bells jingling softly. Three orderlies loomed up, and Steel sprung into action. She dropped to her hands and knees, and left fly with a mule kick behind her. Her big boots caught two of the men in the chest, propelling them back into the elevator, which promptly sealed shut. Getting her feet back under her, the last orderly jumped on her back, wrapping his arm around her neck. He hung all his weight off her, pushing against her throat with the crook of his arm.

Steel stumbled, and backed up, trying to gain speed without losing her balance. Her hands tingled, deprived of oxygen. Driving her weight backward, she rammed the orderly into a table. His grip barely slackened. She tried to get a grip on the back of his head, raising her arms high up and stretching back, but his shaved head slipped away from her fingers every time. She rocked again, changing vectors slightly. She rammed the corner of a wall between the man's shoulderblades, knocking the wind forcibly from him. This time she was able to grab his head, and she doubled forward, throwing all her weight into the motion.

The orderly set sail through the air, a human torpedo, aimed directly at Limburger. The massive piscine alien moved out of the way at the last second, allowing the man to crash helplessly through a pane of glass, landing in the broken shards on the other side. Steel set herself again, bells jangling loudly as she spun to survey for more attackers.

"Karbunkle, shut her down," Limburger growled as she spun to face them again.

From the pocket of his white coat, the doctor withdrew a small box. He pointed the box at the stunned Mouse, and fired a slender wire. Steel grunted as she felt the end of the wire embed itself into the fleshy part of her arm. Forcing herself to relax, she reached around and grabbed the wire. She never got a chance to pull it out, as an electrical surge coursed from the box through the wire and into her body. She screamed as every nerve sizzled and every circuit fried. Senseless, she fell to the floor with a bang. Her eyelids twitched, her fingers spasmed. Even her tail lashed about uncontrollably.

Limburger smiled at his doctor. "Repair the damages, and meet us in the incubation chambers. Bring the poor, poor, pitiful girl with you."

"Yes, your diabolical dastardliness."

Rimfire paced the garage nervously. "I tell you," he gesticulated at the mechanics. "This is a Martian custom!" He shook his head, his breath hitching. His voice choked. "Rico's gone. She's going to need her bike in the next life."

"So…" one of the human's asked, tilting his head.

"I need you to strip that thing of every trace of Plutarkian tech!" Rimfire nearly shouted. He hated repeating himself. The harder he tried to stay calm, the more difficult it got for him. "Just do it, please. Give her a full tank, and make sure she can't be tracked."

Two of the three mechanics nodded. The third bit her lower lip. "Just what is going to happen to Sparkle?"

Rimfire couldn't help but smile. The girl must have been Rico's personal mechanic if she knew the bike's name. "She's going to wander Chicago looking for Rico until her gas runs out. No one really knows what happens to the A.I., but we like to think that they'll meet again."

The young Mouse rubbed his nose as the three mechanics finally went to their task. They pulled the tarp off of Sparkle, and Rimfire ambled over to pat the choppers gas tank. The bike responded to light with a lazy, inquisitive beep. The engine purred, and the front wheel turned to press against the female mechanic. Internal silence, surrounded by the clatter of tools, Rimfire remembered the first time he ever saw Rico.

_"She's the prettiest girl on the block," a bright voice chimed at his shoulder. With a grin, he found himself agreeing, but not about the bike. The petite Mouse was a vision sent straight from the stars; fur like a star-studded Martian night, and a smile that glittered like the sun._

_ She passed right by Rimfire, and knelt beside the laid-back chopper. It sparkled like the girl's personality did, littered with a thousand tiny motes of light on a field of deep indigo. The seat was contoured, all the proportions just right to fit the little Mouse crouched beside it. Rimfire came forward, settling down beside her._

_ "Hey," he grinned again, trying not to stare into those eyes black as pitch. "I'm Rimfire."_

_ "Rico," she extended her hand, but only after wiping it off on her pants. Rimfire found the action charming, as he deftly took her hand, then twisted it, into a dashing approximation of something his uncle taught him. As he kissed the back of her hand, she giggled._

_ "A pleasure to meet you, Sir Rimmy!" Her laughter was infectious; and he soon joined her._

**Internal System Reboot: Initiated**

**Auditory…… okay**

**Olfactory…… okay**

**Visual …… okay**

**Tactile …… okay**

**System Check …… successful. Reboot complete.**

Steel woke with a gasp of agony. Every muscle seemed to spasm uncontrollably at once, sending her into a full bodied flinch that strained her against whatever restraints held her. Her wrists were tied down; her ankles, waist and even her tail strapped all tightly. Her vision was blurry, and unfocused as she pried her eyelids open. An odd buzzing permeated the air, causing her head to throb harder.

"I want to know how those three got here, and why you aren't giving me the answers I need!" It was Limburger's voice, somewhere off to the left, a rumble that nearly verged on hysterics. "Gods, I can't stand being cooped up here with your incompetence for another minute!" He hit something, sending the poor object of his frustration slamming against the wall near Steel's predicament.

A hand touched her, and she gnashed her teeth at the blurry figure. But the hand was insistent, examining every crevasse of her body. A moment of silence passed as the hand drew away, attached to some oddly shaped lump of white. Limburger's voice scoffed again.

"I know she isn't injured, you nincompoop. Is she awake yet? Or still just acting on primal instinct?"

"I'm awake," Steel rasped. "What do you want with me Limburger? Alpha Squad will know if you replace me with a clone…. And Ricochet too. Everyone knows she's dead; I made sure of it."

Things slowly began to come into focus as Limburger _tsk_-ed at her. She was being held vertically, against a wall. Hanging before her was a Plutarkian cutting torch, and an array of robotic arms. Steel held her breath, and fought down the panic. She kept pushing, further out, focusing. It felt like someone was driving an ice pick through her brain. The figure in the white lab coat shuffled by, an awkward gait to fit to the twisted and hunched figure it carried.

"A failed experiment," Limburger's voice chimed at her right hand. Steel looked down. The fish seemed, different. Slightly thinner, perhaps, but the purple suit made it hard to tell. A white gloved hand stroked the human mask, running over the triple chin as he fell into thought. "Brilliant mind, but a twisted body. Unfortunately, as I am stuck in this squalid hellhole, I am forced to deal with second rate scientists."

Steel growled. "You made this place a squalid hellhole!"

"Ah, yes, that. I'm afraid you couldn't comprehend the truth if I were thrown in your face." Limburger sighed, and moved away from her, to a bank of computers. Against one wall, two giant coils of metal stood silent and watchful. "You see, there is so much wrong with the world. And I am imprisoned by myself, to live out my life in horror and fear." He sighed, placing his palms against the console. "But those three!" He pointed suddenly at the wall, and Steel craned to see. Three effigies, crudely drawn pictures of each of the new Mice, crafted into three dartboards.

"You're not very good at darts," Steel forced with a wry chuckle. "Just fuckin' let me down!"

"If they're back, then the world must be trying to set itself right. You say that your sister died. Both of you are supposed to die… dead, gone and buried. I will never understand why Camembert didn't execute you when he had the chance." White gloves fluttered as Limburger moved across the room. "And if I could just get my hands on _one_, just one, Karbunkle. Then we could set everything right, and I would go back to my petty war with those miserable rodents."

"What are you talking about?" Steel felt a small ball of fear wad up in her stomach. It sat like a rock, threatening to drag her into the current of his mad ramblings.

A video screen squelched. " Have you made any progress cloning her? " Again, it was Limburger's voice, and Limburger's face on the screen.

"What the fuck?" Steel twisted in her restraints. One Limburger was bad enough, but a Limburger and an insane clone!

"I need Karbunkle," whined the Limburger in the room. "She's too complex for me to just clone. There's cybernetics to exchange, and… and her eyes…"

" You will not get Karbunkle, " the vidscreen snarled. " I know you, as well as I know myself. Do not forget that. I will not have you _going back_ to fix your mistakes. Clone her. You have 24 hours. "

With a snap, and a little white dot, the vidscreen popped out. Taking his red handkerchief from his pocket, Limburger wiped his sweaty face. He came back over to Steel, grabbed her muzzle in his hand, and turning her face from side to side. "Too complex. Far too complex." He sighed softly. "But I must attempt. I am sorry, Steel. I have doomed us all."

He turned away from her, presenting a broad, purple canvassed back to her. She strained again, to break free from the restraints. And she swore softly. "Let me loose," she beseeched. "Tell me what he meant; let me help you fix your mistakes."

Once more, Limburger sadly shook his head. "It is beyond both of us now. But, all I need is Karbunkle. If I release you, can you bring me Karbunkle?" He sighed as she nodded. "I will regret this choice for the rest of my life. But if it will return things to the way they were, if it will free me from this self-induced prison, and make this twisted reality vanish into thin air. If you can promise me all of this…"

"I can," Steel interjected. "I don't understand what's happening, and I won't pretend to understand. But Limburger-" she pointed at the black video screen, with her muzzle, "-that Limburger, has to be stopped."

She fixed her gaze upon his, locking his dark eyes into a stare-down while he warred internally. "Very well." He conceded with a nod, and reached for the switch to release the captive Mouse. "You, my dear, are quite possibly a Mouse after my own heart."

Limburger stepped around to a control screen. Steel's breath caught with a primal fear as the robotic limb before her began to emit a high pitched whine. It rotated once, sight-finders dancing across her dark fur like a playground. It whistled, and beeped, and finally, slowly, bent at the highest joint, and maneuvered out of the way. Steel panted softly, as the muscle just under her right eye twitched. With a dry chuckle, Limburger jabbed a finger at the button that released the magnetic holds on her bonds.

Steel dropped to the floor with a metallic _clang_, and the tinkling of a myriad of bells. She rose with a graceful stretch, arching and relieving the air pockets trapped in her joints. The sounds she created were absolute magic, each one bursting like a miniature bubble. Her ear twitched this time, as she turned to face Limburger.

"I need to see a map of the doctor's private rooms," she mentioned, rolling her neck. During a pause in the motion she pointed at the vidscreen. Like a sheep, the giant alien turned his wide back, and left the Mouse staring at an expanse of purple, topped with a bobbing black toupee. For a split second, she was sorry, but it passed.

Her fist was a small ball peen hammer crunching into the back of Limburger's skull. With a sick thud, he slumped forward, breaking his nose on the screen. Steel didn't try to catch him, as he slid from the counter, to the floor, and lay in a lifeless purple lump on the floor. Kneeling by his head, she felt the wound, grimacing as her fingers met cold, clammy fish-flesh. He was bleeding, but he would survive.

A slow smirk began to creep its way into Steel's mouth. She swung her head towards the upright slab, and grinned at the fish beneath her. It took her a few minutes, but she hoisted him up into the cuffs. And leaning over the console, she spun the vast array of arms back into position. With the roles reversed, she felt confident enough to try the vidscreen.

"Rimfire?" She asked softly. "Come on, Rimfire, be there." The screen pixilated, and focused, showing her the interior of Alpha Squad's common room. She sighed with relief as she caught a glimpse of the new guys playing pool. "Rimfire!"

" Steel! Where the hell are you? The guys are back, " Rimfire ran to the screen, before jumping over the back of the chair, and sitting down hard. After a few moments, the three others crowded around him. " Everything went well, but… "

Rimfire trailed off, as Steel moved off to one side slightly. "We have a problem. Can you trace my signal and meet me down here? Bring explosives."

Behind her, Limburger groaned and rolled his eyes around. "Paradox, a paradox, a lovely little paradox," he mumbled to himself. "My fault, all of this… I couldn't get back in time."

Rimfire swore softly. Vinnie echoed him, then sunk his teeth hard into the bottom of his mouth to remind himself that he wasn't dreaming.

" Oh, mama, " Modo whispered.

" We'll be there, Steel, give us ten minutes. " Rimfire tried to smile as he began to punch buttons on the vid's console. On screen, Steel nodded, and moved out of view. Limburger's quiet rambling was the only sound the speakers emitted.

Go To Episode Five

Go back to Episode One


	5. Chapter 5

Episode 5

Vinnie put his hand out and stopped one of the hunched figures in a white coat. As it turned to peer at him, he swallowed hard, wishing he hadn't done that. It was completely furless, pink wrinkled skin hanging baggy on its frame. A blunt muzzle ended in a pink nose, and teeth that were far too large for its mouth. Tiny, stunted circular ears hugged the spotted skull. It squealed at him, an ear-piercing sound. He jumped back and ran over to Modo, letting the deformed thing get back to its task.

"What's up, bro?" Modo rumbled, glancing down at Vinnie.

"I'm gettin' the creeps," Vinnie answered softly. "These things are uglier than a Plutarkian on steroids."

Modo only nodded.

"Guys, come check this out," Throttle called them over to the far wall. He crouched before a set of large metal coils, between which hung a ovular frame of metal tubing. "Look familiar?"

"The… time machine?" Modo ventured. He stepped forward to examine the controls.

"DON'T TOUCH THAT!" a hysterical shriek rose behind them. Modo flinched and jumped back, turning to look. Limburger hung suspended on the wall, writhing, a terrified expression painted on the mask. "Please, don't touch it. Three years! I can almost fix this mess!"

Throttle rose from his crouch, and stalked to the suspended piscine. "Fix what mess?"  
The fish was crying, blubbering. "I did this. I got caught. I caused the paradox by facing myself. That's why you're here. We have to fix this…"

"How do we fix it?" Rimfire pushed. He had just finished constructing a _busy_ loop to play back if anyone called on the vidscreen.

"I have to stop myself, push me back through the portal before I kill them," Limburger whined.

"Wouldn't that just cause another para-whatizit?" Vinnie inquired.

Limburger's eyes widened. "Oh," was all he found breath to say.

"What wouldn't cause a paradox?" Throttle's query was next, as he stepped out of the way, allowing Rimfire to exit the half-ring they formed.

"Anyone who can't meet themselves."

Vinnie sighed. "I'm still confused."

Modo stroked his muzzle thoughtfully.

"_Oh, a paradox, a paradox, a most ingenious paradox,_" Limburger sing-songed softly as he watched the gathered Mice. "_We've quips and quibbles heard in flocks, but none to beat this paradox!_"

"Would you shut up?" Rimfire growled, from across the room. He had joined Steel buy a set of giant metal doors. "Think they can be opened."

"Anything can be opened," Steel grunted, running her fingers along the seam. "Did everything go well?"

"Yeah, the humes got our delivery. The guys said they didn't seem happy about it." Rimfire sighed, and began to look around for a set of controls. "So, what's the story with that?" He jerked his head backwards, indicating the purple fish.

"I think he's a clone," Steel muttered. "But he lost his marbles." She flexed her hands and rolled her shoulders. "Doors magnetized. Nothing I can't pry open."

"Why would Limburger have a clone?" Rimfire backed away, giving her enough room to work.

"Same reason he wants to clone us. When we die, we can be replaced. Expendable commodity." Steel dug her fingers into the center seam, and glanced around. "Hey! Gruesome! Let's test your bionics out!"

Modo turned with a start. He was really starting to dislike that nickname. Flexing his fingers, the hydraulics whined in protest. "Oh, mama," he muttered, as he crossed the room. One of the deformed Mouse-clones skittered before him, chattering its teeth in a primitive approximation of scolding. Side-stepping so he wouldn't have to touch it, the giant gray Mouse took up position on the opposite side of the door. "Ready when you are, ma'am."

"On three, and don't ever call me 'ma'am' again," Steel hissed. There was something in her voice that prickled the fur on the back of his neck. "Ready? One… two… three!"

Together, they both heaved. Rimfire winced as something popped loudly. Modo ground his teeth, his back and arms flexing taut, and straining on the door. Steel's eyes were closed; her features oddly serene. But the ripple of musculature under her fur showed that she pulled just as hard. With a terrible grinding hiss, the doors slowly began to part. When there was just enough room for a Mouse to fit through, Rimfire called a halt.

Both Modo and Steel released the door edges with a gasp, and both hunched themselves over. With his hands on his knees, Modo puffed, fighting to catch his breath. Steel coughed, and straightened, opening up her ribcage by squaring her shoulders back. Then she grinned, and chuckled dryly.

"Nicely done, big guy." As she walked past him, she patted his shoulder. Modo felt oddly accomplished for the compliment. Tucking her fingers around her front teeth, Steel gave a sharp whistle, catching the others attention. "Let's see what we have behind Door Number One!"

Throttle and Vinnie trotted over to join them.

"So? Do you believe him?" Vinnie was in the process of asking as they drew to a halt. "I mean, could that Fish-Lips be _our_ Fish-Lips?" Throttle shook his head, trying to end the conversation, but the younger Mouse pressed on. "If he's really trying to reconstruct that thing, why don't we help him? Get us back to our Chicago? I'm sick of this creeped out mess."

"Vinnie." Throttle's tone warned, his eyes cut sharp over the rim of his glasses.

The white Mouse's mouth opened again, but snapped shut as he caught the glare. "Okay, shutting up now," he muttered, shuffling behind his bros.

"Guys," Rimfire's voice was shaky, threatening to break. "Guys, you should really see this." Rimfire gestured to the gap in the door. "I think we're up Kidd's Creek without a paddle, here."

The room was easily as large as a football field. The door opened onto a catwalk, suspended ten feet above the working floor. Both humans and the hairless mice bustled around the floor, in white lab coats with clipboards tucked under their arms. Perhaps most horrifying of all, there were more than a hundred capsules. Each was easily twice as tall as a human, filled with some vile green substance, and ringed by a bank of controls that made a space station look obsolete.

Modo turned away first, as soon as he realized just what was suspended within the murky green liquid. Bodies. People. Mice. All in various stages of development. Some were no more than microscopic fetuses; while others were full grown Mice, floating in a womb of green. It churned his stomach. Throttle glanced back at him, and gave him a pat.

"You okay, big guy?" he asked, softly.

Modo only nodded, lifting his gaze to stare at the suspended fish in the corner. Without a sound, he moved across the room, lifting a fist to the Plutarkian's face. "If you help us, we'll help you."

"That's what the big black one said!" Limburger spat, almost hysterically. "She said she'd get me Karbunkle! I need to finish the machine!"

Modo blinked, and tried, very hard, to keep his composure. He lifted his hand to wipe the spit from his fur. Something brushed against him, and was gone in the span of a heartbeat. But when he opened his eye, Steel blocked his view of Limburger.

"Here's the deal, lard butt," she snarled. "We get you, it and Karbunkle, all to someplace safe; you finish it, you fix this. You tell us how to destroy every last shred of the cloning tech, and no one looks back. Sound good to you?"

"Wait just a minute," Throttle grabbed Steel by the bicep, and gave her a tug away from the Plutarkian. "Do you know what's going on?"

She tensed her arm, breaking the beige's grip on her. "I'm not a rocket scientist, but I'm not stupid." She turned and glanced at Modo. "No Mouse knew that we tried to off Camembert, not even Carbine. Even half the Plutarkian fleet was in the dark about the assassination attempt. There was no way you could have known." She turned then, and gestured to Limburger. "He's obviously cracked his walnut, but he definately knows who you three are. The Man Upstairs doesn't. All this talk about time machines… Trust me, I can put two and two together."

"She's right," Limburger chimed in. "She's right! We can fix it. They can go back to being dead; I can get my ass handed to me every day of my miserable myopic existence, and you three can go back to root beer and hot dogs, and that pretty little human of yours waiting on your every whim!"

Five Mice turned on the Plutarkian at once. "Would you shut up?"

Silence hovered over the room. A lab-Mouse chattered at them from the corner. Steel's blue-eyed gaze locked on it, cowing it back into silence. She rubbed her shoulders, jangling her bells as she worked out a crick in her neck. "Is it true?"

"Is what true?" Vinnie asked, almost afraid to break the silence.

"Are Rico and I…" Steel seemed to fear the question more than the answer.

"Dead?" Modo finished for her. He nodded a moment after. "Camembert put you up for public execution. You got a hero's burial when the Plutarkians left Mars."

Turning from the other Mice, she pressed her forehead against the wall. "Well, that settles it then," she said finally, scowling as she looked up. "We blow this place sky high." She bent over to retrieve the small pack of explosives that Rimfire brought down with him. "But only when that thing is up and running." She reached up and patted the plastic mask stretched over the fish face. "My sister and I will fix your little problem."

"Steel?" Rimfire reached out. "Are you sure?"

She shrugged. "It's our only choice right?" Her hand hovered over the release switch on the console. "Someone who can't meet themselves. Isn't that what you said?"

"To avoid a lovely, little paradox like this one?" Limburger tried to offer lightly.

"If we're dead, we can't meet ourselves," Steel finished, jabbing a thumb onto the release button. The fish yelped as he found himself free falling. With a thunderous crash, his bulk landed on the floor.

"Where have you been!" Carbine demanded leaning up into Steel's face. "You go AWOL for ten hours and you expect to get off lightly?"

Throttle was impressed. Steel took the verbal abuse without a single flinch. Her gaze was fixed blankly on a point somewhere beyond the back of Carbine's skull. The commander's tirade had carried on longer than ever before, and she had hit each of them in turn. Steel emulated her namesake as she refused to bend under the stress.

"You are all confined to quarters until further notice!" Carbine pointed, but no one looked away. "Torque and Lug will make sure you don't leave." She looked about, casting her dark gaze from side to side, as if she dared anyone to step forward with an argument. "Dismissed."

One by one, they began to fall out; Modo and Vinnie immediately gravitating to Throttle. Steel remained, silent and stoic, with her chin held high. Rimfire's ears drooped even further as Carbine took him by the arm.

"Poor kid," Modo muttered, shaking his head sadly. "Too bad he's gotta take the fall for all this."

"This puts a damper on smuggling that thing out of the compound," Throttle sighed.

"Dude, she's still just standin' there," Vinnie breathed, staring across the room.

"What do you think you'd be doing if you just found you that you're supposed to be dead?" Modo gave the white Mouse a push to punctuate the question. With a dodge and weave, Vinnie tried to avoid it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Throttle saw Steel finally move. She shook herself out of the stupor and glanced around, seeing the interior of the common room for the first time. He joined her as she flopped heavily onto the couch.

"Somethin' on your mind?" he asked, calmly removing his glasses to clean them on his vest. A small chuckle came as his only answer. "Everything will work out, you know. When we see her again, she'll be fine."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Steel corrected him quietly.

"Then wh-" Throttle was careful not to glance in her direction. Instead, he watched as Vinnie and Modo rough-housed on the floor.

"I _don't_ want to talk about it," Steel growled, and rose as Rimfire broke away from Carbine's grip. The black Mouse disappeared into her room, and the hydraulic door hissed closed. Throttle watched as Rimfire disappeared into his room as well, with much the same anger.

Carbine didn't spare him a glance as she turned and exited into the hall. Torque and Lug both followed her out, taking up positions on either side of the door. As the egress hissed shut, Throttle was left alone with his thoughts, and his bros' forced laughter.

"Give?" Modo asked the smaller Mouse pinned beneath his cybernetic arm.

"That's cheatin'!" Vinnie cried, trying to laugh as Modo leaned his weight onto the kid's shoulder.

Throttle laced his fingers together, and laid his muzzle thoughtfully in the cradle they formed. This was such a mess.

"How did you lose her?" the bellow shook the windows of his office. Limburger sighed heavily at the screen before him, dabbing at his forehead with a kerchief. The action was completely superficial, as he didn't sweat, though the rubber face mask was stifling hot. "All I ask is for you to perform a simple task, and this is the thanks I get?" He reached for his bowl of mealworms, the tiny annelids squirming about like living spaghetti.

" Sh-she destroyed it, " the other Limburger simpered, wringing his hands together. The face on the screen seemed even more plastic than his own. " The conniving little _cunt_ destroyed it. "

If he squinted just right, he could see the dismantled ruins in the background. Seems that his other half's grand scheme to step back in time, had yet again failed. "Now, now," Limburger scolded gently, waggling a fist full of worms at the screen. "I told you not to leave your toys in the open. But that doesn't explain how she got away from you."

The more he tried to sound calm, the harder it became for him to stare at himself on the screen. It was worse than a reflection: he was looking at his future. In six years, Limburger had nothing to look forward to. He was slimmer, less stinky; the symbiotic algae that kept Plutarkian scales and skin moist had begun to die. Limburger's future looked as bleak as the landscape of Earth. He yawned, silently, as his other self tried to explain the situation.

_Was I ever that bad?_ The younger Limburger wondered. _Did I toady, and whine? Cry and simper like an idiot?_

" She broke away! Her sedation wore off quickly! And the strength; she is true perfection! " The Plutarkian on the screen gestured wildly, making grand bouncing gestures. The fat wattles of flesh that should have been triceps waggled comically in the air.

A small light in the corner of the screen began to flash, alerting young Limburger that he had another call waiting. "Did you at least get a cell sample?" he asked, covering the little LED with his thumb. It was most likely only Carbine reporting, and she would be content to leave a video message.

" Cell sample, yes; but how much of it has been altered from her original coding? " The elder Plutarkian gained lucidity as he centered on his work. The younger only smiled, raising the double chins that his double chins had. At least he had one thing to look forward to in his future: a hidden knack for science.

The light at the corner of his screen began to flash, red this time. Limburger's brow furrowed, as he removed his thumb. "Keep me posted," he snapped before cutting off the feed to the dungeon. He paused, staring at the flashing red light for a few moments. His curiosity stewed through a few names as he tried to name who would be paging him so urgently. Finally, he punched the 'receive' button, and leaned forward slightly.

"Yes?" he asked to the stern figure upon the other end. A pair of dish shaped ears greeted him stoically, and Limburger's face split like a ripe pea into a smile. "My dear boy, what can I do for you?"

"Our deal still stands?" the Mouse on the screen demanded.

"Of course, my boy, of course. Now, what _is_ my beloved Alpha Squad up to?"

Tessa Clintock made it through life the hard way. When the Plutarkian's came out of hiding, she had been one of the first to try and stand against them. But in doing so, she had been one of the first forced into slave labor. Tessa sympathized with the Martian Mice; they were being held in bondage, just as the humans were. After all, she did enjoy working for the Mice. Most of them were a pleasant enough bunch.

Kneeling beside a motorcycle, she reached blindly for a ratchet, only to find it pressed into her hand. Starting slightly, she turned to her left. With a little laugh, she shook her head, turning back to her work.

"So you want all the Fish-tech off it?" she asked, again. Rimfire was going to get testy with her if she kept pestering him. "I'm still not really sure I understand what's going on."

The young Mouse looked so haggard; his dark eyes solemn as he watched the human work. With a long sigh, and a shrug, he opened his mouth to explain again. "It's a ritual. No Martian is ever without their bike. So… when a biker dies, we… we send the bike to her. A full tank of gas, and no possible way to track the machine."

"Isn't that cruel?" Tessa asked, as the purple bike beeped sluggishly at her. Out of habit, she patted the front wheel; it had become second nature to treat the hunk of metal like nothing more than a giant dog. "I mean, can't they feel it?"

Again, he shrugged. "Nobody knows," he frowned slightly, leaning forward to pat the bike's seat. "I'm sure Sparkle understands. Besides, it's what… what Rico would want."

Tessa closed her eyes, and rubbed her cheek with a greasy finger. The dark smudge against the woman's bronze skin stood out in the bright garage lights. _The poor kid_, she thought. _He's really taking this harder than he should. I wish I could do something._ Finally, she pulled the small Plutarkian tracking unit off the carburetor. "That should do it, Rimfire." Standing, she wiped her hands on her gray jumpsuit, purposefully smudging the embroidered numbers. "And, if there's anything you need, just let me know, okay?"

With a chuckle, he clasped her shoulder. "Sometimes I wish you were my mechanic."

"You know-"

"I know, you can't. You'd rather be a S.H.O.C jock than to ride with the big boys." Rimfire chuckled, an oddly hollow sound. "Tess, do you still have your bay door security codes?"

"That's an odd question." She retrieved a rag from the far wall. "Of course I do, but why?"

"We think the renegades are salvaging equipment after dark. I need clearance for a three-man crew to bring some surveillance equipment out to a few designated spots."

"At night?"

Rimfire nodded.

Tessa played with the zipper on her jumpsuit. "I'll see what I can do. You can count on me."

"Where? Where have you been?" Limburger grabbed for Steel's arm, but she instinctively recoiled. "It's all dismantled. It's all done. It's been days! Where have you been?"

She didn't answer, but pushed by the old piscine brute. Modo, Vinnie and Throttle meandered in behind her. The place was no less strange than before. The wide doors to the cloning chambers were wide open, the stunted Lab-mice scurrying back and forth across the opening. Limburger wrung his hands together, the scales beneath his gloves crackling like dry leaves. He followed the four Mice over to his dismantled time machine.

"Well, can you help? I need to fix the mistake!" Limburger toadied, trying to get a good vantage point around the gathered Mice.

"Would you shut up?" Steel growled. "What needs to go first, fishlips?"

"You know, fish don't have lips," Limburger waggled his finger at her. "But I guess Plutarkian's do, but we're not really fish, more like _icthyo sapiens_, if you will."

"Just answer the question," Throttle interposed, laying a hand on Limburger's arm to get his attention.

"Oh, framework first," Limburger muttered, motioning to the large pile of pipes and sheet metal.

"You do know how to put all of this back together, don't you?" Modo asked, as he lifted up a long steel pipe.

Limburger began to ring his hands together again. "Well, in theory…"

Steel threw her hands into the air, with an exasperated sound. "Great, just great. We have a ton of crap that no one knows how to use! How are you guys going to get this thing working? Some human ingenuity perhaps?"

"Actually," Throttle smiled, and glanced at Steel over his shades. "That's exactly what we were thinking."

Vinnie's face lit up. "Charley agreed? Wait-" he paused at Throttle's apologetic features. "Not Charley… Jack. You got Jack to agree." Throttle nodded; Vinnie straightened his bandoliers. "I can handle," he told himself. "I can handle 'cause none of this is real."

Limburger jumped excitedly into the air. "Exactly! None of this _is_ real!"

"What did I tell you?" Steel asked, glancing sideways at Limburger. He stopped bouncing, though the folds and rolls of his flesh still wiggled for a good minute after. She leaned over and placed a small device on the pile of steel. "This is a portable transporter; the other end is keyed to an equipment sled, attached to your bikes. The bay doors will open at midnight; Rimfire's promised."

"Wait, you're not coming with us?" Throttle's brow furrowed.

"I'm still on house suspension." She knelt by the pile, tapping in a short code to the transporter device. "You guys are free to roam, though. Which is why you're setting up the surveillance equipment."

"Sur-" Modo stopped himself, and tried to read her raised brow line. "Oh, right, surveillance…"

"Hopefully tomorrow we get the rest of this out there, and then we've got to figure out how to spring Limburger," Throttle grinned. "Let's get this show on the road."

Steel pressed the _send_ button, and stood back as a soft blue glow bathed over the steel. She reached out, grabbing Vinnie's arm before he could follow his bros out. "Hey," she offered him a pale smile.

"Uh, hey," he muttered, returning it. "What's up?"

"If you can, find out how Rico's doing?" There was something in her voice, something open and vulnerable. Vinnie broke into a huge grin, and shook her shoulders lightly.

"Gladly," he spun on his heel and jogged after his bros. "I'll even give her a hug for you!"

She chuckled, shaking her head. As the hydraulic whine of the doors ended, she turned back to the cowering Plutarkian. "How comfortable are you with death?"


	6. Chapter 6

Episode 6

All's Fair…

"In twenty-four hours, I have lost control of my best squad," Limburger twined his fingers together, raising a single brow. "I have the feeling that you know the reason why."

Rimfire drew a slow breath. "I told you what I know. The new guys are moving equipment, out to a location we think the humans have been visiting."

There was silence as Limburger judged the veracity of his statement. "No, my dear boy, you told me only what they wanted you to." The Plutarkian sighed, and leaned forward. "However am I going to ever find Primer if you keep being so insubordinate?"

The Mouse bristled. "Have you even been looking for her?" Rimfire gripped the arms of the chair so tightly that the wood splintered. "Are you looking for her, like you_ helped_ Rico?"  
"Gentle with the furniture, boy," Limburger's voice dropped an octave. "Ricochet's circumstances were unfortunate. But it is the sniper, Steel, that concerns me now."

"Bull! Forget Steel!" Rimfire forced himself to release the wood. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hoped he was sounding as careless and angry as he meant to. No script, not today, even if he knew exactly what he wanted to say. "Rico's dead because you didn't listen to me! What were you planning to do? Clone her?"

Limburger's eyes narrowed, and the great Fish leaned forward slightly. "Oh, really now?"

Panic surged through Rimfire; he glanced aside to escape from those beady cold eyes. He slipped; damn it, he slipped! Limburger chuckled softly, and the Mouse knew his fate was sealed. He could bolt, but he'd never have made it from the facility alive. He shivered in the chair, and wondered if anyone inside these walls could be trusted anymore.

"Clone you say, well, that's an interesting idea." Limburger was laying the bait out. "What would you do if I told you I had clones of both, your sister… and your little girlfriend? Hm? What would you do if I told you that you were a clone? Or perhaps its Carbine?" Limburger pinched the area between his eyes, as if he were suffering from a migraine. "But then, you've seen the subbasement, haven't you? So you would call my bluff."

Rimfire began to rise, trying to find the right words to protest. The huge Plutarkian reached to his side, and pressed a button recessed into his desk. The chair Rimfire hovered over sprouted straps that wrapped around Rimfire's waist and extremities, yanking him back down, and holding him tight.

"Oh, no, I insist that you stay awhile," Limburger cooed. Pushing another button, Limburger leaned to the microphone. "Greasepit, be so kind as to send Carbine, and the good doctor in."

" Yessir, youse da boss! " crackled back the answer.

Rimfire couldn't see the entrance of the Mouse and humanoid, but he could hear Carbine's disappointed sigh. Karbunkle set a bag down beside the chair and began to rummage through its contents. Cackling softly, he brought out a large hypodermic syringe.

"Sodium pentothal," Limburger explained. "Since you reneged on your contract, and lied to me, I feel that it is necessary to force you to talk. Carbine, my dear, confusion doesn't become you."

"Then explain," she demanded, putting a hand on Rimfire's shoulder. He was tense, trembling beneath her touch.

"Oh, I think I'll let the boy do that," Limburger smiled as Karbunkled administered the serum. Quietly, they waited while Rimfire struggled. Slowly he began to settle down, his eyes glossing over.

"Rimfire, are you with us?" Carbine asked softly, kneeling by his side.

The youth actually chuckled. "Not with you. But with Steel, and Uncle Modo, and Throttle, and Vinnie, and… and Ricochet. Always with Ricochet."

Carbine opened her mouth, but Limburger put a hand between them, forcing Carbine back a step or two. "Rimfire, how long as you been working for me."

"Three years with the squad," Rimfire slurred. "A year of it… keeping tabs on undocumented activities."

"What?" Carbine blinked.

Rimfire chuckled again, swiveling his head towards his commander. "Wow, this stuff is good. You should try some, Carbine, maybe it'll thaw you out."

Carbine's eyes widened at his audacity, and she attempted to reach around Limburger for the boy's neck. Her hands however, closed around Greasepit's fat, slimy arm. The goon passed her an oozing grin and gave her a push backwards.

"Do you require redefinition in, persay, military terms, my dear general?" Limburger smiled snidely. "Simply put, the boy corroborates the validity of your reports, supplying any missing information."

"But only because you promised me you'd find Primer!" Rimfire interjected, angrily.

The Plutarkian waved him down, and finally stepped away from Rimfire. Taking Carbine by the bicep, he led her to a seat of her own. "Please, sit, and I'll expound on the present situation. Your new Outriders are spies; they seek only to destroy the remnants of the Mouse population from the inside out. Clones, robots, rats in disguise, I have yet to figure out that particular aspect of this conundrum.

"But it seems that my little scheme has been uncovered. I cannot clone the dear sick Ricochet, because everyone knows that she is now, deceased. That means I have lost a vital part of my effort to control the less… _stable_ members of your squad." Limburger patted Carbine's head gently. "But then, you knew that."

Slowly, Carbine nodded. Rimfire almost choked in surprise. "You knew?" he slurred, shaking his head as if it would help him focus. "You knew they were poisoning Rico? Then, you know about the cloning –!"

Limburger cut him short with a chuckle. "Dear, precious boy, Carbine **is** a clone!" Both Greasepit and Karbunkle joined in his laughter. Rimfire could only stare as Carbine hung her head. Her shoulders curved, as she hunched over herself, as if she were ashamed of that information. "Now, boy, I don't have a way to properly control you, any more. Your sister is obviously dead, or she would be sitting beside you now… and your girlfriend has sadly suffered the same fate. So what am I to do? Dear me…"

Limburger paced the room one full circuit before he looked to Karbunkle The scientist seemed to be vibrating with joy as he caught the meaning behind the Plutarkian's gaze.

"I have just what we need, your fragrant flatulentness!" The skinny scientist bounced to the hydraulic door, punching the button with a great grin. "I would like everyone to meet… the new… the improved…"

The door slid open, and the drugged Mouse felt a fresh surge of panic churn his stomach. His gorge rose, and the salty, fetid taste of bile filled his throat. The figure in the doorway… Karbunkle reached in, and drew the form from the lift.

"Rimfire!" Karbunkle's voice sent shivers down Carbine's spine.

&

"So, why do you hate us so?" Ricochet's question stopped Brock dead in his tracks. Over his shoulder, his glare lanced through the silence.

"Your kind..." he growled, facing away again. "Your kind took my wife from me. Murdered her in cold blood. Last year, when the Sears Tower finally fell."

He commended her silently; she managed to keep quiet. She had no false apologies; she had no saccharin phrases for his pain. He half-turned again, in order to see her reaction. The Martian face was so hard for him to read. Her eyes were thankfully closed, saving him from the weight of that weird violet gaze.

"How do y'know?" Ricochet whispered. "That it was in cold blood? How do y'know that they didn't regret it? They didn't cry?"

"Cry?" Brock scoffed, snorting in derision. "Your kind doesn't cry!"

The Mouse had the nerve to smile. "Next, ya'll be sayin' we don't bleed either." Brock scowled, his lip curling in a sneer. She pressed on, either ignorant, or stubborn. "We're victims, just as ya'll are. It's the Plutarkian's that y'should hate."

Brock opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself as a small hand curled around his. Zoë smiled up at her father, and she nodded. "Listen to her, Daddy. I told you they weren't all bad."

"How can you be so forgiving?" He twined his fingers through his daughter's hair. "They killed…"

"No, Daddy," she shrugged his hand off, shaking her head and stepping slightly away. "No Mouse killed Mom. The Plutarkian's did. They're the bad guys. They've done everything evil."

Brock growled softly, and turned his dark gaze back to the quiet Mouse in the other room. "What lies have you been feeding my daughter?"

"None," Ricochet answered with a slight shrug.

"Then…" Brock stuttered, stalling as he searched for a conclusion.

"I'm not just a little girl, anymore, Dad." Zoë began gently. "And I'm not dumb."

"But…"

"Dad." She had that tilt to her head, and suddenly, he noticed just how much like her mother she looked.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his bald head sheepishly. "I guess we need to talk, huh?"

"Yah, Dad, we do," Zoë turned slightly to smile at the Mouse. But Ricochet had lain down, pulling the single blanket up so far that only the crest of her ears, and her red antennae stuck out. The young girl laughed, and followed her father from the shallow, dirt-walled room.

In the quiet that pervaded as they left, Rico sighed happily. Less than four days had passed since she woke up with the humans, and she almost felt strong enough to venture outside the little room. Maybe tomorrow, she'd ask about her sister, and Rimmy.

&

Carbine watched the new Rimfire size up the team. She knew what it felt like to have a legend to live up to. Yet, she felt a flickering of remorse for the loss of the light from his eyes. No, that candle had to be snuffed quickly. Remorse was not an emotion she could allow herself to experience. So many things were better this way. Rimfire was finally back on the right team, so to speak. After all the Plutarkians were trying to save the Cave Mice from extinction.

"We're going to need more," Rimfire said, finally turning back to Carbine. He ruffled a hand through his orange streak. "Steel can take an entire squad herself, so make sure every team has a EMP charged and ready to go."

"We'll get Beta and Delta teams to back us up on this one. Hub and Axle have grudges with the humes to settle." Carbine suggested, nodding slightly. "Look, Rimfire, for all we know, Steel still thinks you're helping her. Find out where she is, and what she's doing. Halogen and I will worry about the firepower." Again, a flicker of remorse stirred in her heart. She knew he was too different now; Steel would instantly know something wasn't kosher. "We'll have the tracker keyed to your signal." Carbine silently thanked the mad doctor for installing the homing chips in each clone. Subconsciously, she rubbed her arm, as Rimfire touched his.

"Sounds like a plan," Rimfire grunted. "She's got to be on the grounds still. Steel wouldn't cut and run without gloating about it first."

Carbine didn't answer, she didn't like this new attitude. She only wished for the rebellious, awkward kid that had been her second in command. When Carbine opened her eyes, he was still there, brimming with confidence, and anger. She couldn't meet his eyes, as he smiled over at her.

&

Even if he was skinnier than his corpulent counterpart, Lawrence still couldn't squeeze his fat butt through the bulwarks. Ahead of him, Steel checked her watch for the fifth time. She figured they still had quite some time. Two hours before they discovered the body, and perhaps another two before someone figured out that the corpse wasn't who it was supposed to be. And yet his Lordship Lardass was wasting precious time that they could otherwise have used to hide!

"Get your ass in gear, Larry," she hissed as she retreated to help him. "We have a schedule to keep."

Lawrence reached out to her, unquestioning and entirely without complaint. His four-fingered hands curled into desperate hooks, hooks that snared Steel's hands. She set herself and Lawrence inhaled sharply. The Mouse rocked as he did, pulling with all her augmented might. The Plutarkian found himself freed like a cork from a bottle of champagne.

Steel never lost her footing, deftly sidestepping and allowing the Fish to tumble into a sprawling heap. His suit was sweat-stained, and he stank like a sun-ripened wharf. Steel wrinkled her nose; he'd smell better if he took a dip in the sludgy remains of Lake Michigan.

"Move," she ordered, pointing toward the light at the end of the access tunnel. Her face turned to a grimace as Lawrence staggered upright, making enough noise to wake the dead. She glanced down at the transponder on her waist. Happily, a green light blinked back at her. The humans had received the second half of the warp machine. Silently, she thanked Throttle for having the foresight to leave the sled with their new allies.

"Five minutes," she warned the puffing Plutarkian. The three Outriders would be meeting them at the end of the vent shaft. The portly piscine was having trouble making it up the long slope.

"If… I may…" he held one white-gloved hand up. "Have… just… just a moment?"

"No," Steel growled. "Either you move yourself, or I get behind you and push."

"I'm attem…pting… to am… ambu… I'm trying!" Lawrence gave an un-fishlike grunt of exertion. Steel advanced a few yards, and waited while the Plutarkian struggled. Under her arm, her helmet communicator squelched and crackled. With an irritated hiss, she dropped the apparatus over her head.

"Rimfire, this is an unsecured channel," she snapped, glaring at the kid's picture at the corner of her readouts. "This had better be good!"

" I'm just wondering where the hell you are! You know you're still under house arrest, right? " he looked genuinely perturbed with her. Had he forgotten everything they'd discussed last night?

"Rimfire, look," Steel tried her hardest not to let her eyes wander from the tiny image. "I'm in the middle of something very important right now. You should know that!"

For a moment, blank confusion flickered across Rimfire's young features. " Uh, yeah, sure, " he uttered, without a send off, no luck wished, nothing. The link simply died. Dumbfounded, Steel stared at the empty spot on her visor.

"Change of plans, Larry!" the black Mouse growled, stepping behind the Plutarkian. Bewildered, the Fish yelped as Steel levered her shoulder into his back. "Double time!" she ordered. Lawrence's shoes squealed as she began to push him up the incline.

Just as they had promised, the three Outriders were waiting when Steel popped the hatch. Throttle opened his mouth to ask what had panicked her, but he never got the chance. She shoved Lawrence at Modo, whose mouth curled in disgust. He did allow the Plutarkian to clamber onto the back of his ride.

"We've been compromised," Steel explained once Throttle got his question out. "At least, I think so. Rimfire just contacted me over an unsecure line."

"He knows better!" Modo scowled.

"Exactly." Steel pointed a finger towards him, and nodded. "We have to stick to the plan, though. He's been a space cadet before. So I can only hope…"

Steel revved her bike. The motor purred so quietly, it couldn't be heard over the other three bikes. Vinnie smiled broadly at the sniper, as she looked over to him. She returned the grin, unable to resist his open honesty.

"Let's get a move on," Throttle's voice was tinny through the helmet's speakers. "The sooner Fish-lips gets to work, the sooner we get to go home." Throttle took the lead, walking his bike a few steps forward. "Alright, bros… and lady… Let's Rock, and Ride!"

Jack rummaged through the pile of wires and dials and circuit boards. "So you're supposed to tell me how all of this, fits into that, eh?"

With his eyes, he gestured to the massive construct of steel and titanium. The main bulk of the apparatus was made of two giant Tesla coils, flanking a steel oval frame large enough for three people abreast. The smaller console off to the right was hollow, the top folded back to expose the rear of the panels. A small stand in the center was presumably for a power source, which still didn't appear to be with the rest of the innards.

Crouched across from him, the Plutarkian was untangling a silver filament from the wires. He nodded silently, not breaking the intense concentration he forced himself to keep. Overhead, a soft rumble of thunder caused everyone to glance up.

"Will this roof hold?" Brock asked nervously. The old concrete walls and ceiling had more holes in it than he could count.

Charley shifted her seat on the tank-treads slightly, refusing to answer as she watched Steel approach. In the half-light shed by the headlamps of the gathered motorcycles, the Mouse's eyes seemed to glow in the darkness of her face. Charley released a breath she hadn't been aware of holding, as Steel attempted to smile.

"Larry says they'll have it running by dawn, so long as they can find a suitable generator," Steel explained, ignoring Brock as she leaned against the treads. "He and your boyo there have some serious jargon going on."

"Yeah," Charley found her attempt at small talk, annoying to say the least. "My husband is like a kid when it comes to electronics."

Brock cleared his throat, and shifted slightly. "So what of my sister? Is she fit enough to make the jump with me?" Steel seemed to ignore the big black man more, as he tried to make his presence felt.

Charley shrugged. "I'll have to call Danny. This morning she was more talkative than I've ever heard a Mouse. In any case, someone will have to go get her, because I'm not broadcasting these coordinates over any radio frequency, secure or otherwise."

"Understandable, I'll go get ready to ride," Steel nodded and pivoted on her heel. Three steps and she paused, glancing back. "Thank you."

Charley glanced at Brock, and gave a small surprised laugh. When she looked back up to welcome the stoic Mouse, Steel had already disappeared.

As Steel approached the bikes, Throttle intercepted her. "I don't think you should go." He began, wrapping his hand around her bicep. She flexed, expanding the muscle until it was a chore to hold onto her.

"And why not?" she demanded.

"Because you're supposed to be on house arrest," Modo chimed in. "And everyone knows it. If any other patrol sees you out here, you're gonna get nabbed."

She growled. "I can't be caught." Those blue eyes were like icicles as she glared around at the three Mice.

"Maybe you can't," Throttle conceded. "But you can compromise the rest of us. And we just can't let that happen."

"So you'd better let a professional escort take care of her!" Vinnie butted in, all smiles and glamour. "Like… _moi_."

Steel was obviously not impressed. But Throttle nodded. "That's a good idea. Keep you occupied; and it's a good cover."

"Joyride king," Modo chuckled, clamping a hand down on Vinnie's shoulder. "Just let him go, Steel. It was his idea to get Rico out of the complex."

Vinnie beamed again. Steel's shoulders slumped, and Vinnie took that as a sign of defeat. He leapt upon his racing bike, and kicked the engine over in one motion. The guttural roar of the bike drown out his whoop of joy as he sped off into the deepening night.

The buildings crawled around the mall. Rimfire slowly swiveled his position, watching the red bike speed away down the road. He grinned and peered back at the infrared scans. He knew where every one of those measly turncoats was sitting, chatting like nothing was going on around them. The speaker by his ear whispered updates on positioning. Soon enough, they would have the entire mall surrounded, and they'd be able to strike. What a blow this would be. They'd have to see they were on the wrong side. They would have to know.

They really let him go! Vinnie couldn't believe his luck. Charley trusted him enough to go alone to her home, and Steel trusted him enough to let him pick up her sister! Well, not that Steel really had any ability to argue about it. The Last Chance came up fast; he was a red blur through the streets, jumping the holes, instead of cruising around them. His tires squealed as he jammed on the breaks, skidding the last few feet to a stop just in front of the giant bay doors.

The guns all swiveled to meet him, as he jumped off the bike. Holding up both hands, he waited until the weapons powered down, and then he sprinted for the side door. Two of the humans were there to meet him. Brock's daughter, and the surgeon. The girl was bold, and grabbed Vinnie's arm, to drag him inside.

"Rico! Rico! Your escort's here!" she called into the garage.

"Already?"

Vinnie could only grin as she rose slowly from beside her bike. Silvery, slender and smiling, she seemed like such a different Mouse now. That smile was to die for, Vinnie decided as she approached him. The overalls she wore were slightly too large for her, and the tee-shirt beneath them fit her like a sack as well. She wiped her hand off on her pants before she offered it to him.

"You're Vincent?" She shook his hand lightly. "I guess I get t'thank you for savin' my life. Y'were the only one to listen."

Vinnie blushed, and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Aww, it wasn't like …" He trailed off as Danny tapped his arm for attention. The human handed him a small canteen.

"It's water," the surgeon explained. "Above all things, she needs to stay hydrated, and keep flushing her system of the poisons. If she gets tired, let her rest. And make sure her sister knows this."

Vinnie nodded, and slung the canteen over his shoulder. Ricochet was kneeling down with the girl, hugging the child tightly.

"Now, Zoë, make sure y'pa remembers how t'smile," Rico reminded her. "I'll be sure t'find y'when I figger out that last cradle."

"You'd better!" Zoë responded, beeping Rico's nose lightly. "It's hard!"

"I know, I know, that's why I need t'practice." Rico left the girl then, walking over to her idling chopper. Vinnie whistled softly, as Rico swung astride it easily. She turned her violet eyes on Vinnie as she settled into her helmet. "Let's go. I wanna see m'sissy."

The garage bay doors swung ponderously open. And Vinnie sprinted to his bike. He waved at the two humans behind them, while Rico rolled up beside him. The iridescent shine of her gas tank glittered even in the murky twilight. Vinnie pulled out first, and glanced back. The bike wobbled slightly, before it seemed to correct itself. Atop it, Rico shook her head slightly, as if to clear it. Vinnie slowed down, figuring it best if he stayed close.

Rimfire scanned the mall again. Just what the hell were the humans doing? Crawling under the huge tank, and tinkering with it; perhaps the giant metal monstrosity was broken. Delta squad still wasn't in position, considering their posts were closest to the tank and its deadly turrets. Rimfire scowled, as the sound of motorcycles began to get louder. He ducked beneath his cover again, swiveling to peer around the shattered concrete. Switching his binoculars from infrared to night-vision, he peered at the oncoming vehicles.

In the lead was Vinnie on his red racing bike, weaving slowly through the pot- and sink-holes in the road. A few feet behind him, rolled a chopper. Rimfire blinked, removed the binoculars, and rubbed his eyes. No. It couldn't be. It just couldn't be. He lifted the magnifiers again, adjusting them one last time for normal vision. The choppers chrome gleamed in the twilight, the gas tank glittered. Rimfire's heart expanded until it felt like it was going to break.

"Ricochet…" he whispered softly. With his heart thundering in his ears, he watched as Rico pulled into the mall, moments behind Vinnie. He shook his head, trying to clear the muddy waters of confusion. "Rico, you're… alive?"

" Rimfire? " The voice that crackled softly over the speaker was Axle, Delta squad's commander. " We're nearly in position. "

Rimfire sighed, and dropped the binoculars to his lap. From his seat, he could see Carbine watching him, but she looked away whenever he glanced in her direction. "Good. Can you see what the humans are doing from your angle?"

" Right now? " Axle fell silent, his deep, rough voice creating a void of sound in its absence. " Yah. They've got the engine block out of the tank, and they're hooking into some wacky, phallic thingy. "

" Wacky, phallic thingy. How… scientific. " the second voice belonged to Axle's lieutenant, Cam. She snorted softly. " What matters, chief, is that there's some serious sparks going on. Whatever that thing is, I think it's working. "

"Damn." Rimfire almost raised his voice, but caught himself just in time. Biting his tongue, he scanned the area again with his infrared binoculars. Down below, everyone was hugging. Or at least, surrounding those who were hugging. Iron bands tightened around Rimfire's heart as he watched. Why could they get to hug Ricochet? Why wasn't he included in this? Why had he been told that she was dead?

Steel was smiling, a broad fearless expression that loosened her up. Ricochet had broken down into sobs when her big sister greeted her. And even Modo had to wipe a tear from his eye as their reunion lingered on. When the sisters finally parted, Vinnie handed Ricochet her canteen, which the young Mouse instantly drank from. As introductions, and other pleasantries passed around, Rico seemed to be looking for someone in particular.

"Sissy?" she finally asked, as everyone dispersed. "Where's Rimfire?"

Apologetically, Steel shrugged. "We're not… totally positive, but I think Limburger got to him." The black Mouse concentrated on affixing her rifle to the side of her bike, only so she wouldn't have to exchange glances with Ricochet. She knew the younger's face would be tense, as she was trying to make sense of it all. Finally, Rico knelt down beside Sparkle, and began to recheck her ammo levels.

"So… I won't get to see Rimfire, before we go through?" The question was so innocent, Steel felt as though her heart would break. For a moment, Rico's face was illuminated by a bright spark from the Tesla coils. Larry gave a soft whoop of triumph, as a second writhing spark traveled up the length.

"We're getting there!" Jack grinned, wiping his hands off on his vest. "Just a few more minutes to build up some power." He reached over to the unhoused tank-engine, and slipped it up another gear. The thick, grinding rumble drowned out all other sounds, making conversation impossible.

Steel motioned to her sister, and together they wheeled their bikes into position before the empty ring. Rico glanced back, as she patted Sparkle's tank. The motorcycle purred, and rolled back and forth a few times. Steel's bike, picking up on the anxiety in the air, mimicked the action.

Suddenly, Rico was turned around by a hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she caught her reflection in the gleaming plate mask, and couldn't help but giggle. Her antennae tingled as Vinnie leaned down close to her ear. With both hands on her shoulders, he pulled her closer.

"I don't know what's gonna happen, sweetheart," rang his voice, quick and shaking. "But never lose that beautiful smile." Quickly, he kissed her cheek, and backed off. As the white Mouse turned away, Rico swore she caught him blushing. Her own ears flushed warmly, and she glanced around to see who had watched their exchange.

Steel was only shaking her head.

"GO! GO!" Rimfire shouted the command as the thunder of the tanks engine would drown out the sounds of their approach. "Stop them!"

The teams hit their lights, flooding the mall with a brilliant fluorescent haze. And with a rousing cry, thirty Mice swarmed over the small camp.

"Shit!" Steel swore soundly, spinning and reaching for her gun.

"NO!" Larry jumped before them. "Just give it a little more time… PLEASE?" His eyes were wild, white-rimmed with fear. "Let the humans fight! Let them buy you some time?"

Steel growled, but ducked behind her motorcycle. Both bikes swiveled around, to train their guns on the attackers. The humans were already engaging, the steady whine of the rail gun Brock wielded cutting through the deeper rumble. The three Outriders too, had leapt into action. Too far from their bikes to make it in time, they pulled pistols and rushed into the fray. Modo remained near the females, towering over everything, his eye blazing an angry red.

Larry dove for the controls, seeking to protect his precious investment with his body. The Plutarkian jerked as bullets began to riddle his body, but with one last burst of strength, he punched a final button. Steel sunk to her hands and knees as a wave of nausea swept through her. The electricity behind them had reached a fever pitch, screaming and crackling as it whirled around the metal framework. She struggled back to a crouch, sliding backward as her bike slowly rolled in retreat.

"RIMFIRE!" Ricochet's voice broke out in a tremendous cry. She stretched her hand beyond the safety of her bike, and withdrew it in a jerk when a bullet bounced too near. "Rimfire, don't! Stop!" She was focused on the male in the back, gesturing to everyone, directing the flow of battle. Ice gripped her stomach as she saw a familiar shape brought up next to him.

"Oh, shit," Steel saw it too. "The portal's almost open, Rico. We've got to go."

"That… that's…" the silvery Mouse was shaking, pointing. Sparkle rolled back a few more inches, forcing Rico closer to the portal.

"An EMP…" Steel glanced around. Charley and Jack had taken refuge behind the tank, and were now peppering the advancing line of Mice with small arms fire. Brock lay in a heap by the tank tread, his hands still wrapped around the smoking rail gun, his face contorted in rage. The Outriders were forced into retreating, drawing closer to the portal.

Suddenly, both Steel's motorcycle, and Sparkle turned and fled, revving engines and speeding through the portal. It was like they had slipped into a pool of water, with no splash, and no sound. Rico's eyes were huge, as she glanced at her sister. Steel grabbed her arm, and gave her a tug. "We go, now!" was the sharp order. Rico half-rose from her crouch, while Steel dove through the ring.

The younger Mouse turned and glanced back, one last time. The EMP generator was nearing critical mass, glowing vibrant blue. Rimfire had focused his eyes on her; even through the carbide smoke, and haze, she was burned by the hatred in his gaze. Suddenly, the EMP began to grow, the blue amorphous blob sliding over everything. White fur blocked her view after that.

Vinnie scooped Ricochet up into the crook of his arm. "You've got to go!" he shouted at her over the sounds of battle. "Fix this! Please?"

He pushed her toward the portal, just as the EMP was reaching the edge of the battleground. As it passed over cyberbikes, the motorcycles underwent a total shutdown sequence, flood lights blinked off as the blue glow touched them. Vinnie raised his pistol as he held Rico back with one arm. Following his line of sight, Rico screamed. She lunged for his firearm, but he was faster with the trigger.

"RIMFIRE!"

Vinnie shoved, literally throwing Ricochet through the portal.

Her last sight, before the waters of Time closed over her head, was the sight of Rimfire's figure collapsing slowly to the ground, like a broken puppet.


	7. Chapter 7

Episode 7

…In Love… and War

Lawrence Lactavius Limburger chuckled to himself as he slithered through the portal into the past. Glancing around, he scowled at the pillar before him. He couldn't see the scoreboard from where he had landed; a perfect shot would require him to take three steps to the left. Three steps that would, unfortunately, place him out of sight of his three captives, back in the present day. Oh, the price he had to pay for finally ridding himself of those rambunctious rodents. So three steps to the left he accomplished, getting a perfectly clear view of the scoreboard, and the one spot the Mice would be leaping from their ship.

Below him, the Nubs were losing horribly, on a field glittering with early dew. The stands were packed to capacity, thunderous screams and applause reverberating through the scaffolding. Scanning the sky, Limburger tried to pick out the one star that was growing larger by the second. The Cyclodrone Thunderpipe. Limburger sneered, and lowered himself to one knee, bringing the laser rifle up to rest against his shoulder.

"What will I do without these pesky rodents plaguing my every breath?" he breathed, a tiny smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "What should I take first? Lake Michigan? Perhaps the concrete from O'Hare?"

He chuckled again, and shifted his bulk to be just a little more comfortable. A large part of him was most pleased that he hadn't wasted time or money on some incompetent supervillian. After all, when you want something done right… do it you--!

Something hard collided with Limburger's side, crashing him to the hard concrete before he could finish his thought. The laser rifle tore from his hands, and fell clattering six feet from his outstretched form. Limburger flailed, trying to dislodge the weight that had settled on his back.

"Ease up, Ricochet," a voice, muffled yet gruff, sounded behind him. The weight shifted, moving away from his back.

"No!" The addressee snapped, with a voice as clear as a bell chime. "He's the cause! We've gotta stop him!"

Limburger felt a hand on his shoulder, and he was lifted to his knees. A figure stepped into his view, holding onto his shoulder as if it would keep him from attempting anything. Violet eyes flashed in the stadium lights, shadows outlined large dish-shaped ears. A Mouse. Limburger's weak three-chambered heart skipped a beat, leaving him breathless.

"Dammit," the gruff voice snarled. "There's the ship."

Limburger looked up as the violet-eyed Ricochet did. Yes! It was approaching quickly, and Limburger had a chance. He lunged for the gun. The female standing before him was faster, and Limburger rocked to the left, reeling from the roundhouse she had landed. For someone so small, and petite, she sure packed a wallop. The second Mouse moved with an easy, soundless gait, leaning down to pick up the laser rifle.

"Would ya just stay down?" Ricochet demanded as Limburger tried again to regain his feet. Her next punch was an uppercut, knocking the Plutarkian backward. For a moment, he glimpsed stars, or perhaps those were flashbulbs. Limburger allowed himself to flatten out, but his assailant kept advancing.

Her foot buried into his layers of fat to find his ribs. With a sharp gasp, he doubled over. Her second kick hit even harder, and like dry straw, three of Limburger's ribs snapped.

"Ricochet!" the second Mouse shouted. "I found the rift. Bring the fish!"

Grabbed by the lapels of his jacket, Limburger groaned. The female growled at him. "I can't budge him, sissy," she called back. "He's bigger than I remember…"

Sisters? Limburger groaned again as he was dropped back to the concrete. Bits of him ground against other bits, sending shooting lances of agony through his flesh. Already one of his eyes was swollen shut, and his lip was feeling puffy. The second Mouse, tall and muscular, yet most definitely female, blocked his view of the descending, smoking ship. She wrapped one hand around his neck, and hauled him up. Limburger's eyes bugged out, and he fought to draw a secondary breath.

No! No! This couldn't be happening! Who were these blasted broads? It had all been perfectly planned! Limburger's mind reeled as he was carried to the shimmering hole created by Karbunkle's toy. Unceremoniously, he was thrown through the hole, dropping to the ground, and skidding three feet to stop at the feet of the only conscious Mouse in the future.

Throttle didn't want to fathom anything that had just happened. Limburger had vanished for about five minutes, and now, this… The fish lay unconscious on the floor just out of reach of Throttle's boots. And the circular hole in the wall showed him perfectly just who was to thank for the assist. The sound of tiny bells jingling filtered through the portal. The taller female supported the other, jet black fur against silvery gray.

"The date?" the darker shouted. "What's the date?"

Throttle stared at them for another five seconds, before giving his head a shake. "June 20th!" At his feet Limburger began to stir.

"What year, you ninny?" she shouted again. "No, Rico! Don't go through that!" The smaller of the two had stepped forward, only to be caught and pulled back.

"The year? Ninety-six. Wait! Where are you go-…?" Throttle couldn't ask the full question before they dove from view. He twisted again in his bonds, trying to get his hands free. If he could get free before Limburger woke up, then he could destroy the machine. And… and… what wouldn't happen? He wasn't sure, but he knew that whatever could become of time travel wouldn't be a happy thing at all.

Throttle's ear twitched. Something was going on. Craning his head around, he could only see enough of the room to know that they were all still alone. Well, he could shout, but that would only bring goons. Unless he wasn't imagining things, and that really _was_ gunfire ricocheting off the walls. The wild pattern of reports hinted that the goons were shooting at something fast.

"In here!" a muffled voice shouted. "Sissy, the door's loc-"

**_BANG!_** The heavy, reinforced door collapsed inward, kicked by a heavy boot. Throttle still couldn't see the door, no matter how he craned his neck, or twisted his torso. Either Modo's bid head, or Vinnie's big ears were blocking the view.

"It's not locked no more," Throttle recognized that rough voice. And he suddenly looked back at the still glimmering portal. "I've got the door, Rico; you go untie the boys."

Pistols, dual wielded, fired rapidly. The girls from the portal? Throttle could feel his head fogging up as he was trying to ponder it. Maybe he got hit a little harder on the head than he had thought. Boots skidded across the floor, and a figure crouched before Vinnie. Removing one of the fusion flares from his bandoliers, she twisted the caps, firing the reaction into high gear.

"Don't worry," she smiled at Throttle, her eyes glittering with joy. "The cavalry's here." Sidling over to him, she cut the chains binding his hands and feet first. As Throttle carefully extracted himself from the bonds, she shifted over to Modo. "Wow, he's out cold." She patted his cheek with a gloved hand, marksman's gloves, Throttle noticed the missing fabric over the trigger finger.

"The white one too, Rico," the figure in the door snarled, ducking behind the jamb in order to reload.

"But…"

"No buts. That was _then_, this is _now_. It's been fixed, dammit. Free him, get them all out of here, so we can blow this shit to holy hell."

Throttle blinked, and reached out to take the fusion flare from the silvery-gray female. "I'll do it. Wake Modo up for me?"

Throttle rubbed his eyes as she flashing him that brilliant smile again. His eyes must be on the fritz, because her eyes looked purple. As Throttle cut the bonds on Vinnie, he scowled at the stain of crimson on the kid's side. Lacerations up Vinnie's ribcage didn't make him feel too confident about getting out in one piece. The girl was kneeling beside Modo, patting his face.

"Hey, big guy, nap time's over," she said in his ear. Throttle watched her out of the corner of his eye, as she searched her personage for something. "Ahah!" came the exclamation as she apparently found the object. A tiny vial, the cork of which she popped out with her teeth, got waved under Modo's nose.

Throttle fairly laughed aloud as the big Mouse jerked awake, knocking the girl back a few feet. She recorked the smelling salts and nipped up to her feet. She then ran to the door and joined the other Mouse, pulling two pistols from holsters at her hips.

"You three need to get the hell outta Dodge!" the darker snapped with a jangle of bells. "Carry him or whatever the hell you want, just get out of here." The two girls alternated with cover fire.

"What about that thing?" Throttle asked, gesturing to the portal.

With a smirk, the jet-furred Mouse laughed. The sound sent a chill up Throttle's spine. "We've got that covered. Trust us."

Modo had freed the three beeping cyberbikes. After a second, he turned to look at the two females in the doorway. They seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves, keeping Limburger's goon army at bay. Carefully, Modo picked Vinnie up and settled him onto the saddle of Li'l Hoss. Throttle swung a leg over his own bike as she pulled up next to him.

"Wait, who are you two?" he asked as he revved the engine.

The two girls smiled, an identical expression on sisterly faces. "Nobody of consequence," the younger answered after a moment. A flash of sorrow flickered through those odd violet eyes, as she looked at Vinnie. "Hey, take care of that guy."  
"We're not leaving without you," Modo interjected. "Mice stick together!"

"We'll be right behind you. Hurry your tails up!" Those bells jangled as the jet-furred female swung back into the doorway, firing rounds down the hallway. "The thermite charge will take 30 seconds to detonate."

"Thermite?" Modo's eye grew wide and round. "Where'd you guys find thermite?"

"Modo," Throttle's tone had changed and he thumbed the launch key for a pair of rockets. Those rockets smashed into the far wall, and blew a hole the size of an elephant in the concrete and plaster. "Let's go. We'll see you two outside." He sounded, so confident, as he revved his engine and leapt from the tower. After a moment, Modo and his unconscious burden followed suit, the riderless red bike moved out a few seconds later.

Ricochet looked at her sister. Three years. Three years traveling around this verdant paradise, just to return here for one day. To see them all again for just one day. Every bone in Rico's body wanted to stay, to jump out the hole in the wall and follow them. Just to have a team again. To be a family again. But she had Steel, her true family. And seeing them again, brought back those memories. Rimfire's body falling slowly to the ground.

He had done it to spur her into action, she had finally decided. And now, they had the ability to prevent this from ever happening again. The thermite explosives in her hip pouch would assure that the entire Tower would be disintegrated. The living tissue in the vicinity wouldn't be harmed, which would be unfortunate. The fish-face would survive, as would Karbunkle, and all their goons. But it couldn't be helped.

Ricochet dug into the pouch, and removed the ordinance from its paper wrapping. The thermite was like silly putty in her hands. Very carefully she kneaded it with her fingers, and snuck across the room. Light arms fire peppered her position a few times, but Steel was quick at taking out the targets. The snipers shots were precise and deadly. Rico kicked at Limburger's hand, moving it out of her way. Finally, she lay the thermite charge against the main console.

Kneading the material had broken the five tiny ampoules of nitroglycerin within. Gently, Rico stuck the remote detonator into the clay-like substance, and backed away. "Bomb is hot, sissy." She said quietly, backing steadily away from the console.

"Grand," Steel smiled. "Let's blow this pop-stand."

"And?"

"And do what we do best, little sister," Steel answered, rising from her crouch and running for the hole in the tower. Steel flung herself from the building with all the grace of a soaring eagle, her arms and legs spread wide to slow her fall. Moments later, Ricochet followed suit, launching herself into open air with wild abandon. Upon the count of twenty, Rico pressed the small button concealed in the palm of her glove. Above her, the world turned white.

The thermite charge detonated, consuming the Tower in a blinding flash of white light and red hot heat. The wave of burning air washed over Rico's form, and she tucked small, keeping her hands by her sides. The wind past her face whipped her hair into a frenzy, the free fall from thirty stories was exhilarating. Steel's hand reached out as Rico threatened to pass her in midair.

Catching their hands, Rico swung herself into Steel's secure grasp. The elder Mouse used the added weight to shift her balance, until she was rocketing feet first toward the hard concrete. As the Tower began to crumble into a fine white dust behind them, Steel braced for impact.

The sound of pulverizing concrete hid the crash of Steel into pavement. And as the dust settled around them, Steel rose with a roll of her shoulders, and carried her sister from the crater they'd created. Their bikes greeted them around the block, joyous with blinking lights and bright beeps. Rico patted Sparkle's gas tank, and mounted up silently. As Steel settled onto the back of her ride, she flexed her knees carefully, listening for any damage.

"I wish we could stay," Rico whispered quietly. "I miss them."

"D'you think they got out?" Modo asked softly as they watched the Tower crumble. From their vantage point a few arms stuck up out of the concrete dust, and occasionally a plume rose where some one sneezed. Throttle shrugged slightly, and leaned over slightly to check on Vinnie.

"We should get him back to Charley," the beige Mouse voiced. The kid was pretty beat up, and both the others felt as if they'd been through the ringer a few too many times. "We'll take a breather; it'll be a while for Limburger to get back on his feet after that beating he took."

Modo blinked at his bro, before engaging the shield on his helmet. "Who beat the cheese-head up?"

Throttle never answered him. He rolled his bike slowly out of the alley, and turned left, weaving through the debris to the south. He had a soft, overwhelming sense of heading home, as if he hadn't been there for months. Sunset over Chi-town had never been so vibrantly beautiful.

The End?


End file.
